


The Signs She Missed

by BPHP (Bees_Pen)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Post-Hogwarts, Pre-Relationship, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-09-19 05:34:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9420851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bees_Pen/pseuds/BPHP
Summary: While struggling to write her wedding vows, Hermione thinks of all the signs she missed over the years that may have told her that a relationship with Draco Malfoy was not as unexpected as everyone thought it was.WIP and I apologise for slow updates!





	1. Stupid Muggle Traditions

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Everyone!  
> I'm new to this ship but I thought I'd start off light and fairly short with this. It's just a bit of fun with flashbacks to pre-relationship (as you may have gathered from the summary) so it's not a story of love developing but I still hope you like it! I love comments, so let me know what you think (good or bad) :)
> 
> Oh, and I don't own anything HP related.

Hermione groaned in her sleep, attempting to turn onto her side before she felt a weight bearing down on her, clamping her into place.  Her breath hitched in surprise, eyes flickered open and she saw… an arm.  Pale, marble-like and sculpted. With a curl of black ink on the underside.

“Draco!” She gasped, sitting up quickly.

The mass beside her didn’t move and simply made a semi-conscious ‘mmm’ sound in reply from beneath the duvet. 

“Draco…,” she said more softly (and much more calmly now that she was over the shock of his unexpected presence) and smoothed her hand up his arm affectionately, “What are you doing here?  You’re supposed to be at the hotel.”

There was a heavy exhale and his blond head, the only other part of him visible at the moment, turned to her, eyes still shut. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said weakly.  “I hadn’t seen you for ages.”

“Two days,” she smiled.

“Too long.”

She breathed a laugh, “It’s only for a few more days.  You know, so we don’t see each other before the wedding – ”

“Stupid muggle traditions.” She jumped at his voice, suddenly sounding less sleepy, and noticed that she’d been so engrossed in watching her fingers trail up and down his arm that she hadn’t seen him open his eyes to her.

Gosh.  He really was gorgeous.

But no way was she going to show him how secretly happy she was that he’d come back to her, admit that two days felt like a long time to her as well.  They had lived together for a year and half, so it was strange not to have him at home when she came back from work, or be able to get into silly debates with him about the news.  And sleeping in their bed without him was lonely and cold.  She missed how he would take her book from her hand and tuck her in when she fell asleep reading.  She missed the feeling when he wrapped around her and how he kissed her temple every morning.

And she missed his body.  Bed certainly wasn’t as fun without him.

She pursed her lips, “You can’t think _all_ muggle wedding traditions are stupid. What about the white dress?”

“Which I haven’t got to see…” He frowned.

“Not until the day, but – ” She sighed and wracked her brain. “The bachelor party?  Isn’t that a fun tradition?”

He turned his body towards her. “I didn’t really get what the fuss was all about,” he rasped.  That voice was entirely too sexy.

 “I thought Blaise and everyone took you to a muggle strip club?” She giggled to herself. “Women dancing on poles, taking bits of clothing off – what’s there not to understand about it?”

He propped himself up on one elbow and played idly with her fingers. “I don’t know,” he shrugged, “I don’t see how it’s fun to watch a scantily dressed woman – a complete stranger – dance in a room filled with _loads of other men_.  It felt awkward and I didn't see the point, especially when I’ve got you to come home to...”

She melted looking back into his eyes and ran a hand through his ruffled hair.  It didn’t make much sense when he put it like that.  She had felt much the same way during her own bachelorette party, spending most of the time imagining how Draco would look in the same gear as the stripper, then wondering where to buy it.  She’d even asked him after the event and had a Post-it note floating around in her handbag with the shop details.  Ginny had been unimpressed.

“It’s supposed to be your last day of freedom,” she finally explained, “So you’re allowed to lust after someone else for one more night before you become mine.”

He rolled his eyes in mock exasperation but squeezed her fingers sweetly.  “It’s silly, as is the whole sending your fiancé away – ”

“I’m hardly _banishing_ you from my life! I’m not enjoying this either, but it’s _bad luck_ to see the bride before the wedding and we’re getting married in – ”  She looked at her clock for the time. 3:57am. “Goodness. 36 hours.  This is dangerously close t – ”

He smirked. “You don’t honestly believe that stuff do you?”

“Well, no…”

“No, you don’t,” he said triumphantly and leaned in to place a kiss on her lips, feather light and teasing.  Just as she thought to deepen it he had drawn back a little, enough to be able to look into her eyes, studying her. “You don’t believe it… but you still care about it,” he sighed.

“Yes.” Although, looking into those stormy grey eyes of his she was quickly forgetting why.

“Because it’s a muggle belief.” He supplied.

“I just want to be safe,” she whispered back.

He huffed a little and then pulled away completely, taking everything – his touch, his warmth, his smell – away from her.  He started to gather up his pillow and some blankets from the cupboard.

“Granger... we’re meant to be together.  The number of hurdles we’ve overcome is testament of that,” he turned back and smiled wryly, “I don’t think a little bit of bad luck could do very much to us.  But,” he sighed, “If this matters to you then I’ll go sleep in the lounge tonight and go back to the hotel early tomorrow morning so you won’t see me when you get up.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, throwing an impish grin in his direction.

“No, _thank you_.  You owe me,” he sauntered over to her side of the bed with a grin on his lips. “And I can think of a few ways for you to pay me back in about 37 hours.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “You do realise there’s a reception after the ceremony?  We’ll have to show our faces for more than an hour.”

He shrugged and ignored her warning. “I’m thinking a pole…” He pressed a kiss to her temple, “And nipple tassels.”

“Definitely not!” She tried to be serious but they were both sniggering. “Draco?” She called and caught his arm as he began to walk away.  “Is there _anything_ about muggle weddings that you actually like?”

“Yeh,” he nodded, “The vows.  I like how we can write them – make them about _our_ past and _our_ future.  Wizard binding ceremonies are so impersonal.”

She smiled weakly at him as they said their goodnights with a last kiss and she watched him and his perfect behind waltz off into her lounge, blankets in hand.

The vows.

Her heart suddenly clenched. It was his favourite part, the bit that was personal and intimate. Vows.  As in the things she hadn’t written yet.

He was doing this whole muggle style wedding, getting all his wizard guests (who would deign to come) to act muggle for a day so that she could have the wedding her family had wanted for her.  He had fought his parents round to the idea of their marriage, battled for the muggle plans and ceremony, and she couldn’t even write vows for him.  Tell him how much she loved him.

Of course she had _something_.  She had many things written down – that was the problem.  She had so much she wanted to say.

She reached into the extension-charmed handbag by her bed and pulled out a wad of about thirty pieces of paper, all with writing scrawled across them.  Some of them were receipts and ripped corners of newspapers where she had suddenly thought of something she wanted to add, others were entire pages of notepaper sprawled with writing on the front and back.  None of it was a complete set of vows.

She had tried so hard for the last few months, ever since they decided not to go for traditional vows and write their own, but she’d never felt like they were good enough.  Now it was 36 – no, more like 35 hours – before she was due to recite her vows and she had no clue.  She’d never been in the habit of leaving things to the last moment like this.

She had asked others for help.  Her mother and father had said traditional muggle vows which were nice but still impersonal.  Ginny and Harry, her only married friends who had also written their vows, had given her a copy of theirs for inspiration.

Ginny, in typical Ginny-esque fashion, had unabashedly spoken about how she had probably been in love with Harry since she was ten and met him whilst dropping Ron off on Platform 9¾ for his first year.  She could talk about how they had grown up as friends, how Harry risked his life for her in the Chamber of Secrets, tried to protect her when the War broke out and how she had fallen in love with him when he wasn’t even around – when he was hunting horcruxes.  In turn, Harry could talk about how she gave him the first real sense of family and how he got through the darkest moments of his life by thinking of his chance to be with her.

Their vows were sweet, just like them; just like their relationship.  But they could hardly help Hermione.

Her relationship was not one that sparked from a young crush and grew on a foundation of friendship.  It was a rougher, bumpier ride than Ginny and Harry’s, full of scars and pain.  It was unexpected, to say the very least. Hermione had spent the good part of her adolescence with her nose in her books, pining after Ron, and Draco was being groomed to be a mass murderer. Their relationship was one of forgiving and forgetting the past; relearning each other after the War. 

Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were the most unlikely match to grace the _Announcements_ section of the _Daily Prophet_ – Prince of the Death Eaters and the Order's Warrior Princess.  The wizarding world was in uproar, many thought they (or more specifically, Hermione) had fallen victim to some curse.  That was after she had to convince her friends that she was sane, and _that_ was after she had spent the good part of a year battling herself over her feelings for him.

No one truly understood it.  She barely understood how it all worked out, herself, but she knew that she loved him. She just couldn’t do the fairytale thing as Ginny had done and say a part of her had always known that she was meant to end up with Draco.

Hermione sat with her pen poised over a new piece of paper, thinking about when she first seriously considered that they were meant to be something more to each other.  The end of eighth year, probably.  But she would be lying if she said there weren’t some signs before that…


	2. The Problem With Divination

**26th November 1993 - Divination Classroom, North Tower - Third Year Divination Class**

Hermione unfolded herself from under the table and flicked an errant strand of hair from her face, wondering whether anyone had noticed her sudden appearance or slightly flushed complexion, and it was a welcome sight to see that Professor Trelawney had apparently talked everyone into such a state of weariness that they probably wouldn’t notice even if a Hippogriff flew through the window.  Ron was already asleep.

It was only then that she quickly took in the equipment at their table, the page that Harry’s textbook was opened to, and concluded that this must be another tea leaf reading lesson, the one about ‘combined destinies’ (she'd done the reading a few weeks ago).  Even as she formed that thought she was rolling her eyes at the ridiculousness of the idea, and she found her face contorting at the sound of her fanatical professor explaining it.

“Combined destinies are about the journey’s we take together,” the professor beamed and clutched her hands together expressively. “We will brew the leaves of the _Alnus fortunae_ plant to predict the nature and strength of a relationship that two people are destined to have together…”

Harry casually threw a glance back and then double took on her with a questioning look.

“Hermione?”

“Yes, Harry?” She tried to be nonchalant.

His brows furrowed further and his eyes seemed to scan over her face, which she hoped was no longer as flushed from crouching under the table.  “Oh – nothing.  I just though you weren’t – Nevermind,” he said, shaking his head and turning back to watch Trelawney.

Hermione took a deep breath, feeling like she’d gotten away with it but only _just_.  One day she would tell Harry and Ron about the time turner.  She hated lying because she’d never been very good at it and it felt even worse doing it to Harry and Ron; they always look so riddled with self-doubt every time she popped out of nowhere.  It wasn’t fair to them, she knew, but she had promised Professor McGonagall that she wouldn’t tell a soul and so she’d have to keep the secret at least until the end of third year, when Divination stopped being a required subject that stole her away from more worthwhile pursuits.

Trelawney’s voice pulled her back to the present. “…You and your partner will share a cup of the _fortunae_ tea while you look for the hallmarks: the intensity of the brew, the shapes within and their respective positioning on the cup.  If we work quickly we will have time for three readings so pair off.  Pair off!”

The room was suddenly alight and Hermione turned to Ron to see him being nudged back to consciousness by Harry.

She knew it would happen, because it always happened.  Whenever they are asked to work in pairs it always seems to be that Harry and Ron are together and she’s left begging around for a partner.  She doesn’t know what it is, maybe it grew from some childish habit since they were friends first, maybe it’s a subconscious notion of boys sticking together, or she hopes (really hopes) it’s not something to do with her making them feel inferior just because she bothers to do the required reading and they don’t.

“Sorry, Hermione,” Harry said apologetically when he saw her rolling her eyes at them, “I said I’d go with Ron first.  You weren’t here before…”

“I was!” She insisted, but it came out whiny and hollow (even she had to admit) because it _was_ ultimately a lie.

“Now my dears,” Professor Trelawney seemed to suddenly appear behind Hermione, “There is plenty of time for further readings with each other so you can find another partner for n – ”

A loud shuffle of a chair suddenly cut her off, and Hermione saw a white-blond head peak up over her shoulder. A petulant voice was scolding Crabbe and Goyle for pairing off and, in turn, they were looking gormlessly back at him before he spun and tried to march away.

Malfoy only stopped when the Professor laid a hand on his shoulder as he tried to walk past and he looked at her with a face that told everyone how unwise a move it was to lay a hand on a Malfoy.

“Well, it seems fate is with us,” Trelawney said sweetly, and didn’t seem to care how impertinent Malfoy’s sneer was. “If you are in need of a partner then you can go with Miss...” She tailed off with a slight cringe and gestured weakly in Hermione’s direction. 

“Granger,” Hermione supplied, though it is pointless, the professor couldn’t remember names for the life of her. “But professor, I don’t think Malfoy and I should do this exercise together…”

“Oh?” She frowned, “But why ever not?”

“Because we despise each other.” Malfoy drawled, mouth curling up in disgust, as if he had just taken a swig of Polyjuice potion.  

It was the first time Hermione had truly looked at him, more out of shock from the civility of his statement.  Well, maybe it wasn’t civil – he still said he despised her – but she was half expecting him to mention ‘mudblood’ in there somewhere.  Yet he hadn’t.

She realised, in fact, it was probably the first time she had _really_ looked at him in a whole year.  There were suddenly things that she hadn’t seen before, like the new ‘just out of bed’ hair style that had replaced the slicked comb-back he had last year, or that he was now a good few inches taller than she remembered, his face more chiselled after shedding his puppy fat.  But those grey eyes, they’ve never changed.

Professor Trelawney hadn’t replied to them yet, instead she seemed intent on studying them, drawing uncomfortably close and gazing into their eyes.

It was a rather unnerving moment while they awaited her next move, like some wild animal that they did not wish to spook.

“Are you _quite_ sure?” She finally asked them with an expectant blink.

Both she and Malfoy raised their eyebrows back at their professor.  Were they quite sure they despised each other?  Most definitely.  It was not a feeling easily confused.

“Yes, Professor,” Hermione spoke slowly, maybe it would help get this through to her. “I _highly_ doubt Malfoy and I will have much to do with each other in the future.” Except, perhaps, if they were at war with each other, but she wouldn’t mention that.

“But your auras!” She waved her hand around them both, Malfoy flinching away from her and flashing Hermione an uncertain look.  If there was a shred of commonality between them, it seemed to be their opinion of Trelawney and her subject. “Yes,” the Professor continued dreamily, “I think there will be something in the leaves for you two to make this a worthwhile exercise.  If I’m wrong then you’ll just have to wait until the next reading.  Please take your seats.”

It was said kindly but there was no mistake, it was a dismissal, and neither Malfoy nor Hermione felt able to argue with it.

They awkwardly settled into chairs at the last empty table, Hermione trying not to look at him, as has been her way for the last year or so.  She had noticed, at some point, that the majority of Malfoy’s caustic remarks are aimed, not at her, but at Harry and Ron.  She didn’t like it when they got attacked either but they could defend themselves and it was only when she felt Malfoy had gone beyond the ‘normal level of prat’ with them that she ever spoke up.  And it was then that he would get truly nasty to her.

That hadn’t happened for a while now, and she was rather glad.

Trelawney’s overexcited voice rang sharply across the room.  “First, my dears, you must each take hold of the cup with one hand as you pour the boiling water inside.  _Feel_ the energy flow between you!” She almost bubbled with enthusiasm.

Again, without looking at him, Hermione tentatively placed the small cup between them and waited for him to grab on.  It was a small Chinese tea cup, making it hard not to touch each other but she appreciated that he was just as reluctant to do that.

She poured the boiling water in with her other hand, hearing Professor Trelawney mutter her approval.  “That’s it…” she nodded at them, “The liquid will darken and you must both keep hold of your cups until the colour stops transforming.  The intensity of the final colour represents the strength of connection you will have to each other.  A short acquaintance will yield a light brew whereas a close and enduring relationship will be darker…” She spoke to the class but momentarily stopped to compliment the Patil sisters sitting a few tables down with a cup of completely black liquid.

Her eyes went over to the cup between Ron and Harry – a warm amber brown, the colour of aged fire whiskey.  It wasn’t quite as dark as the Patil sisters – they were twin sisters after all, practically inseparable since birth and there was no reason to think that may change – but Harry and Ron’s was still indicative of a close bond that would last. 

If the leaves were to be trusted, of course.

“Granger, I think we’ve got some dud leaves,” she faintly heard Malfoy inform her as she was still scanning the other tables.

“Wh - ?” She whipped her head back to look at her own cup, scowling instantly.

It was pitch black.  A glistening onyx liquid swirling in the cup.

“How did that happen?” She muttered (more to herself than anyone else).

Malfoy shrugged with indifference. “I’m telling you, it’s the leaves.  Or,” he added with a smirk, “Maybe you did something wrong when you poured the water.”

She threw him a deadly look but realised, oddly, that there was no menace to his words, just faint… amusement.  “I didn’t do anything wrong.  It was only pouring water,” she replied lamely.

“Well then we get new leaves.  Maybe this is English Breakfast rather than _fortunae_.” His hand slowly reached up in the air to get Professor Trelawney’s attention.

She drifted swiftly over, her long patterned skirt bellowing between the tables.

“Yes, my child – Oh! Splendid!” She smiled down at their cup, its contents the colour of tar.

“Er, _no_ , Professor.  It seems Granger did something wrong so I think we’ll be needing some new leaves,” he smirked again and this time she caught how he seemed to look specifically in her direction, expecting a reaction.  Unfortunately she gave one – a pursed set of lips – because she hated her schoolwork being anything but perfect.  Even if it was just Divination.

Trelawney deflated.  “Oh.  Well, please take note that just because a result is unexpected it may not necessarily be wrong.  Repeating our readings when we dislike results achieves nothing, it is simply a denial of fate.” Hermione chanced a look at Draco, shocked when she found herself staring straight into his silvered eyes, skeptical and bored as they listened to Trelawney.  “But… you may take another cup from the table at the front.  If you must,” she said pointedly before walking to another corner of the class.

A few moments later, they had a new cup of dried leaves and a freshly boiled pot of water (just to be safe).  Malfoy had insisted he poured the water this time to ‘avoid it being done wrong.’ 

For a fraction of a second she was relieved to see it turn the same pitch black shade as the first pour – it meant she wasn’t at fault earlier, or that Malfoy was just as bad.  Then she realised what it actually meant and remembered to frown at the stupid thing.

Apparently they would have some connection to each other.  And, if what Professor Trelawney and the books had said was correct, it would be a very _deep_ connection, possibly for a long time.  Perish the thought.

She glanced up at Malfoy looking at the cup with an expression that was probably a mirror of her own: troubled disgust.

Maybe it wasn’t a positive connection like friends (she wouldn’t even contemplate anything more).  Maybe it meant they would be devoted in their hatred of each other? Mortal enemies.

And that was another reason why she hated Divination.  It was so bloody vague.

“Now what?  I don’t think we should get even more leaves, I don’t care to be lectured by _her_ again…” Malfoy droned.

“Well then we just carry on and get it over with.” Hermione sighed a little.  For once she had stopped caring about the quality of her work.  “The next step is to take alternate sips until we drain the teacup and look for signs like we did for our individual readings.  Except they may mean different things if we’re considering the both of us together.”

Hermione took a sip and passed the cup over to Malfoy, wincing at the shock of the flavour.  It was rancid, bitter and sweet all at once, and she looked around to see others coughing and spluttering at the taste of theirs too.  Malfoy smelled the concoction, made sure he placed his mouth far from where she had and took a swig, hissing at the tang.

When Hermione finished draining the cup, he recited the passage of their textbook.

_“Take note of signs and symbols that appear beginning from the rim.  The symbols closest to the rim represent events that will occur sooner in time than those at the centre of the cup.”_

Hermione frowned down, crooked her head in different positions before saying, “I see… a stick.”

“A stick?” He asked flatly.  He shook his head disapprovingly, almost cracking… a smile? And then took the cup from her. “I’ll interpret, you read up what they mean.”

She waved her hands at him in frustration.  She was never very good at embellishing things that _clearly weren’t there_. It had always alluded her as a child, when other kids said the clouds looked like sheep or rabbits.  The clouds looked like clouds, just as these leaves looked like wet leaves.

“It’s a sword, Granger,” he said distractedly. “Pointing to the side.”

Hermione flipped furiously through the book.  “That means ‘arguments or fights,’” she scoffed to herself.  Looks like it would be devoted enemies then.  But then she read on, “If it points to the side then it means that there will be some… resolution at the end.”

He snorted with derision muttering something under his breath like ‘yeah, right’ and bowed his head back into the cup.  “The next thing is an anchor.”

“Which direction is it pointing?”

“Up,” He replied.

Hermione turned a page, reading with surprise.  It must have shown in her expression because Malfoy was soon asking what the matter was.

“Um,” she cleared her throat, “It’s a sign of friendship, realisation of your wishes and – um – constancy of love.”

They both gawped a little gracelessly, Hermione at the pages and Malfoy training his eyes on the paisley pattern of the tablecloth. Anything to avoid looking at each other.

“Are you sure it was up?” She suddenly asked.

“Yes.” She flinched at the sudden bitterness in his tone.  It shouldn’t have surprised her since that was normal coming from him, but he’d been fairly courteous for the last fifteen minutes she’d almost forgotten what a prick he was. If just for a moment.

He put the cup on the table for her and saw that the anchor was, indeed, pointing up.  And there was a star. Two stars, actually.

Malfoy didn’t question as she shuffled through the book, trailed her finger down a page and squeezed her eyes shut. 

_No way._

“What?” He asked fearfully. “Granger, wh - ?”

A thunderous gong rang.

“Alright children, please switch!” Trelawney sang.

Hermione simply slapped her book shut and fitted it in the crook of her elbow while she looked for Ron and Harry.

She heard Malfoy ask from behind her. “What is it, Granger? What do those stars mean?”

She turned back and put on (Merlin knows why) a weak smile for him. “It’s nothing Malfoy.” Then she looked back, failing to see where Ron had disappeared to but found Harry waving her over and almost ran in his direction.

No way.  No way could she see her and _Draco Malfoy_ – king of the blood purists – laying their animosity aside.  No way would she become his friend or have any sort of _tender_ love with him.

No way would they _share a family together_. It was ludicrous.

Harry noticed the scowl across her face as she marched up to the table and plonked herself on chair the next to him.

He winced. “Is everything alright, Hermione?  I’m sorry… we really didn’t think you’d end up with Malfoy, we thought maybe Dean or...  Hope he wasn’t too nasty?”

She had barely been listening in her attempt to get herself set up again and avoid staring over at Malfoy who was still bent over the cup and flicking pages of his textbook.

“What? No, he was – um – he was okay… I suppose.”

Harry’s face melted into a grin and he nodded gently. “Ron and I got a ring,” he said lightly, “It’s a symbol of family, so I can only assume Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are going to adopt me at some point.”

“Or you’ll get married to Ron,” she smiled.

He laughed and then trailed off awkwardly.  “So, what about you?  What did the tea say would happen with you two?”

She distractedly looked at Malfoy, frozen with his finger on a line in his book and jaw dropped at their cup.  His eyes flicked to hers, catching her with a glare that wasn’t all together menacing.  Nor was it particularly friendly, for that matter.

She ripped her eyes from him and focused on the warmer green of her friend, smiling fakely to answer his question. “Oh nothing much, Harry.”  She shook her head and laughed lightly, “This whole subject is complete – ”

“This is rubbish!” She heard Malfoy announce to someone, probably Crabbe or Goyle.  She didn’t look back but she imagined him waving the cup around like a child.

“It’s complete nonsense,” she finished, and all Harry could do was look at her quizzically as she readied their cups.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I took some artistic licence (if you can really call it that) with regards to the tea and some of the tea symbols but hopefully nobody minded ;)


	3. Ancient Charms are No Laughing Matter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again,  
> Thank you so much for your kudos and comments so far! I've really appreciated them.
> 
> This chapter is a bit long but I hope you see that I'm trying to tie in some canon events and personal struggles for our characters and there were lots of budding relationships and feelings to address. For example, you'll see some major pining after Ron and some denial from Hermione... I hope it's not too rambly!

* * *

**9 th February 1997 – Gryffindor Girl’s Dorm**

Hermione hated Valentine’s day with a vengeance.  Not only did it seem shallow and commercialised that affection could so easily be equated to a box of chocolates, it also made fools of everyone.  She’d seen it in muggle films and TV series for sure, but in the magical world – the world of charms, fantastical confectionery and love potions – it was _so_ much worse.

This Valentine’s day, however, was particularly grave.  It wasn’t just that she liked a boy and that boy was totally oblivious, it was that she had Lavender Brown sniffing around that same boy. _Lavender_.  As in silly, giggly, boy-obsessed, hair-twirling, poofy-skirted Lavender with the big boobs.

Hermione had curves by now – she was seventeen after all – but they were a modest 32B to Lavender’s 34D.  And she kept them well hidden under her uniform and layers of knitwear rather than on show, so she never quite got the attention that Lavender did from all the boys. But she didn’t want attention from _all_ the boys.

Just one boy.  Ron.

Hermione jolted at the sound of a raucous giggle behind her in their dorm, realising that she hadn’t been reading the Potions book she had in front of her. 

Since when was she the kind to get distracted from work _by a boy_? It wasn’t urgent work or anything, just some extra reading that Professor Slughorn had recommended (since she was two weeks ahead on homework), but still, she shouldn’t get distracted by inane thoughts.

The giggle erupted again and none other than Lavender came running in with a small paper package.

“It’s here!” She clutched it to her chest, “I’m so happy my cousin managed to find it and send it in time.”

“What’s in it, Lav?” Padma asked, ever the obliging friend.  Hermione could only roll her eyes at the unwanted encouragement.

“It’s a book of my Great Aunt Imelda’s best charms.  She was amazing, especially at glamour charms.  She worked for that French designer in Paris – Amelie Felice.”

Parvati gasped. “Her robes were always so classy!”

“I know!” Lavender squealed, “My great aunt did make-up and hair for all the models in her fashion shows, but what I _really_ wanted this book for was…” Lavender flicked through the pages. “This!”

“ _True Love’s Love Letter_ ,” Padma read, and thankfully it sounded like she had got her senses back because Hermione could hear the scepticism in her voice.

“You write a letter,” Lavender explained, standing as if addressing some loyal subjects, “To your true love – obviously – and then you charm it so that the contents of the love letter only appear when your true love gets hold of it.  Otherwise it’s just remains blank to everyone else!  It’s like a secret letter to your lover.”   

Hermione snorted into her long forgotten book, blushing furiously and hoping that no one noticed her outburst.

“What?” Lavender screeched in her direction.  Much to her dismay.

Hermione turned grudgingly and shifted the book from her lap.  “It’s nothing Lavender. I’m sorry, it’s just I don’t think you can expect a charm to be able to identify your true love.  I mean, what does ‘true love’ even mean?  Is there only one perso –”

She scoffed inelegantly at Hermione, crossed her arms. “It’s a very _powerful_ charm, Hermione.”

“I know but – ”

“I think we should do it!” Lavender announced, her eyes shifting between the Patil twins for back up.  Honestly, they didn’t look all that convinced either, and Hermione hadn’t even begun to explain the limitations to such a charm.  Not to mention that they were unlikely to be skilled enough to cast it successfully without much practice or opportunity to check its efficacy.

Annoyingly, Parvati agreed with Lavender, which meant that Padma was compelled to do much the same.

“Good.  I’m giving mine to Ron!” Lavender grinned.

It made Hermione’s stomach clench at the thought that Lavender could be his true love. Whatever that actually meant.  From what she had heard of their dalliances (and she had heard far too much, from both Ron and Lavender about them), they had only been kissing and feeling each other up around the castle – typical hormonal teenager stuff.  She hadn’t even considered it would ever be something as serious as love or _true love_.  She hadn’t imagined it would last…

“I think you should write a letter with us, Hermione, since you’re so sceptical.  You can see for yourself if it works.” Lavender’s voice was a challenge that she refused to rise to. 

She would not be goaded into something so silly.

“Er, no…” Hermione replied.

“Fine,” she rolled her eyes and quickly lost interest, ordering Parvati to get pieces of parchment to write their letters on and then lying on her front, feet waving in the air as she wrote.

She thought it was the end of that until Ginny came in, weary and damp from her Quidditch practice in the rain, and threw the door shut with such a tremendous rattle that Lavender shrieked about jogging her handwriting.

Ginny obviously couldn’t have cared less.

Hermione looked up from her notes and walked over.  “What’s wrong, Gin?”

“Quidditch.” She slumped back on her bed in exhaustion. “It’s shit.  And Harry’s got us training every day for the match against Malfoy next week.”

“You mean Slytherin.”

“No, I meant Malfoy.” She rolled to her side to look at Hermione, “It’s all Harry and Ron talk about, how to take Malfoy down… Can’t they see he’s already down?”

“Really?  He’s won the last two matches for Slytherin – got the snitch in five minutes against Ravenclaw.” Hermione didn’t really like Quidditch talk, but having Harry, Ron and Ginny in the Gryffindor team this year made it hard to avoid conversations about it and it was not her style to be uninformed.

“No, he’s still in good shape…” Ginny said.

Yes. Hermione was very much aware what _good shape_ he was in.  She had thought it was his Quidditch gear grabbing him in all the ‘right areas’ – it certainly did some favours for Ron – but no, she’d noticed his rear and athletically lean torso one too many times in class as well. Even under his jumper and robes.

“…he just seems deflated. Like he’s lost his spirit and doesn’t really care about winning,” Ginny continued. “He hasn’t said anything obnoxious to us in training for _ages_.”

“Oh – ” That was concerning, she supposed.  If Malfoy was being anything but an arse it worried her greatly.

“Oh well, s’pose that may make it slightly easier for Harry to throttle him.” Ginny flashed a grin and started gathering up her clothes for a shower before she stopped at the door and turned back to the three girls that had been silently writing their letters.

“What are you three up to?”

“We’re writing charmed love letters,” Padma grinned. “Do you want to try?”

Hermione stifled a laugh when she saw Ginny manage to raise her eyebrow, roll her eyes and snort all at the same time. “No, I imagine if I wrote a letter to Dean at the moment it wouldn’t really be very _loving_.”

Oh.  So this was one of those times when Ginny and Dean were ‘off.’  That explained the mood.

They had such a volatile relationship – ‘on’ one day and ‘off’ the next – that Hermione rarely managed to keep up with it.  Lately she had stopped even trying and just hoped they’d both realise they were better apart.

“That’s not how it works,” Lavender replied to Ginny, looking up from her parchment.  Goodness, she’d written an essay for a letter!  It rivalled the Transfiguration homework on Lavender’s desk. “It’s actually charmed so only your _true love_ can read the letter,” she explained to Ginny.

“Really?” Ginny dragged it out slowly, flashing Hermione a wolfish grin.

Lavender obviously missed the mocking tone because she instantly perked up. “Yeh.  Do you want to try?”

Ginny shrugged and dumped her stuff on the floor. “Go on then.”

Hermione flashed her quizzical look.

“What?” She asked Hermione, “It’s just a little fun.  Aren’t you curious?”

She supposed she _was_ a little curious…

And that was how Hermione found herself writing a love letter a few minutes later to an unidentified recipient (although she couldn’t help herself writing of their ‘relationship so far,’ making her realise that she was actually writing it to a very specific, certain ginger person).

She had, to her chagrin, overthought this entire thing by writing and rewriting the letter (she was never good with expressing her feelings).  She had peaked over at Ginny’s hoping for some ideas only to get an ‘oi,’ with a mock frown, and be branded a cheat for the first time in her life.

After several versions, she finally settled on something short, hoping to get the point across whilst injecting a healthy dose of scepticism towards the charm, and (she hoped) not coming across so romantic so as to scare off Ro– _the reader_.

_To whoever you are,_

_If you are reading this then, according to an ancient charm, we are destined for each other.  You may not love me now, you may not think our relationship so far lends itself to romantic love, but if you are open to the chance of loving me then I promise to be open to the chance of loving you._

_Hermione_

 

“Are we all done?” Ginny moaned.  She had finished her letter within about thirty seconds (Merlin knew what she had written) and was now finding out just how seriously Lavender and the Patils were taking this. 

“Yes,” Lavender said, signing the bottom with a flourish and folding the parchment up. “Right, wands out.”

Everyone drew them out of their pockets and sleeves, poised with their letters in their other hands.

“The book says we cast the charm ‘ _amarium misit_ ,’ then kiss the paper and say ‘ _signatum in osculo_.’”

Sealed with a kiss.  Hermione could have scoffed again but she thought to refrain.

There was a faint murmur as they attempted the charm.  It failed to work for Padma and Ginny at first, but then Hermione saw Lavender smiling at her now blank piece of paper.

She looked at her own and recited, “ _amarium misit_ ,” then touched her wand to the page.  When she kissed it, she felt an odd warmth on her lips, before she said “ _signatum in osculo_ ,” with a final touch of her wand.

For a long second, nothing seemed to happen until the ink of the letter started to run across the page, twirling into shapes of branches, birds and hearts towards the edge of the paper, before disappearing to leave the page blank.  It had apparently worked.

“Right, I suppose I better plant this on Dean then,” Ginny said matter-of-factly while she gathered her things again for a shower.

“I need to decide how to give this to Ron!” Lavender ran off out of the dorm.

That’s what Hermione had to do too…  


* * *

  
It was fair to say that the charmed love letters did not bring much joy over the next weeks.  Ginny had given hers straight to Dean with a shameless, ‘here, hold this,’ and then simply shrugged when nothing happened, leaving him rather confused when she grabbed the blank parchment and waltzed off. 

She doubted Ginny had any great faith in the charmed letter either but, nevertheless, she had made the decision to break up with Dean a few days later, and it seemed it was going to stay like that.  Perhaps this letter was what it took for her to realise how un-invested she really was in the relationship.  Surely if it really meant anything to her then she should not have been so indifferent to the outcome of this charmed letter experiment.

Parvati had been very disappointed when she had delivered hers to Seamus only for nothing to happen, and Padma had cried a little when she had finally snuck hers to Dean (behind Ginny's back) and the page stayed blank.  They had both given theirs to an unsuspecting Harry (because who wouldn’t want to be loved by the famous Boy Wonder) and then tried to get some more people to pick them up in their various classes.  When nothing happened, they seemed to accept that either the charm hadn’t worked or they didn’t yet know their true loves.

Lavender, on the other hand, hadn’t been quite so cool about it all.  So confident was she that Ron was her true love, she had enclosed her letter and given it to him along with a box of his favourite chocolates on Valentine’s Day itself.  She had accosted Ron while he was working with Hermione in the common room, insisting that he opened the present and letter right here and then.

Hermione had hated having to be around while this all happened.  She didn’t want to sit there like a lemon and have her heart broken when Lavender’s love letter appeared for Ron, but it would have been suspicious to run away.  So she watched, with a mixture of rapt attention and dread as he slowly ripped the wrapping paper off the box of chocolates.

“Oh, Lav.  Thanks!” He smiled goofily.  “These are my favourite.”

“I know,” she grinned, “Now open the letter.”

Ron, confused at her eagerness, still obliged and tore open the envelope to pull out the parchment.  He unfolded it, stared at it and then flipped it over, furrowing his brows.

Lavender gasped in disbelief.

“Lav?” He started to chuckle, “Why have you given me a plain piece of parchment?  I’ve got a load of this stuff – ”

She sobbed loudly.

Typical clueless Ron was delayed in realising that this was not a laughing matter for her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” She cried, snatching the paper and pushing her way through people to the dorms.

Ron turned to Hermione with an incredulous look on his face. “Girls are mad!”

“Yes, Ronald, we’re all bona fide nuts!” Hermione rolled her eyes, despite the flood of relief she felt at seeing that nothing had happened to Lavender’s letter. 

“What? Don’t tell me that all made sense to you?” He asked, pointing over his shoulder.  Lavender had left a trail of disordered people in their common room, all wondering what the new drama was about.

She shrugged and got back to writing her Charms essay.  She was positively beaming inside.  


* * *

**  
22 nd February 1997 – Gryffindor Common Room**

After Lavender’s heart break, Hermione still hadn’t dared to test her own letter on Ron.  The first few days, afterall, were about calming Lavender down and dragging her out of the ‘great depression’ she had fallen into when she found out that Ron was not her true love.  Then, as the days passed and that excuse seemed less convincing, it was evident that Hermione simply couldn’t muster enough of that Gryffindor courage and open herself up to the same disappointment as Lavender.

A week passed before she found herself in the common room again.  Ron huddled with Harry, talking Quidditch formations and mumbling in a failed whisper.

“No, like this,” he said and then pulled a piece of parchment towards him to draw something for Harry.  Hermione, from the corner of her eye, saw him flick his quill a few times before announcing, “What’s wrong with the bloody parchment? It keeps soaking up the ink – ”

Her head snapped up to see him scratching desperately.  It was her charmed letter, now distinctly folded and crumpled. 

Her heart fell, but then pulsed madly as she reached across and grabbed it from Ron.

“Oh, that’s mine.”  She tried to sound calm but it was definitely suspicious.

Harry furrowed his brows at her odd possessiveness.  “O-kay… what is it?”

“Just a Charms experiment I was trying but it didn’t work and I was hoping to ask Flitwick what went wrong.  He’ll need the parchment to inspect.”  It was shameful how good she had gotten at half-truths and twisted lies over the past few years.

Ron and Harry stared at her a little dumbstruck, but neither had any reason to doubt the explanation.  Nor were they interested enough to question her further on the matter – there was Quidditch to be talking about – but they still looked at her shocked.

When she excused herself to the bathroom a few minutes later, she allowed her tears to finally spill out onto the sleeve of her jumper.  Ron had been holding her charmed love letter for _ages_ and nothing happened.

She cried for what felt like a good half hour.  It was a waste of time, she knew, to cry over a boy for so long when she had mountains of work and when she wasn’t even sure that the charm worked.

She hiccupped to herself in realisation. _None_ of the letters had worked so far. 

Maybe that meant the charm was truly nonsense?  Yes, it simply must be that.  And so she tricked herself into thinking there was still a chance that somewhere along the line she and Ron would sort it out.

It would be over two months later, when no one ever expected, that she would be forced to face up to the truth.  


* * *

**  
25 th April 1997 – Hogwart’s Library**

They sat in the library, well into night.  The table she shared with Ron, Harry and Ginny was a total mess with half written Defence Against the Dark Art essays scattered amongst Ancient Rune books, but Hermione wasn’t in the mood to lecture about tidiness.

Suddenly she heard Harry snigger to himself, breaking the tense, silent atmosphere. Interrupting her train of thought.

“Ginny,” he asked between his chuckling.  “What on earth is this?”

Hermione bothered to look up to see Harry holding a piece of parchment with a few lines of writing on it, a cheeky grin on his face while Ginny’s eyes widened at him.

On closer inspection, Hermione saw it was a letter.  Ginny’s love letter.

“It’s nothing,” Ginny explained, although from the way her face flared up he would have to be an idiot to believe her.  “It’s – It must be an old note I wrote to – to Dean.”  She took it from him, awkwardly thanking him and too embarrassed to realise that Harry looked crestfallen at the mention of Ginny’s ex.  Hermione wasn’t blind to the fact that Harry had clearly developed some feelings for Ginny over the last few months, feelings that Ginny wasn’t quite aware of yet.

They settled back into writing for a minute before Ginny whispered over her books to her.  “Erm, Hermione.  Could you show me the Transfiguration textbook you said was helpful last year?” Her head jerked to the book shelves behind her, eyes wide with meaning.

“Sure,” she replied, in that long dragged out way.  They both cast eyes over to the boys to see if their little charade was working but it was obvious they didn’t care.

Hermione led her to a far off corner of the library, turned and started at Ginny.

“Your charmed letter appeared.”

“Yes.” Ginny replied in a sort of haze.

“For _Harry_.” She was stating the obvious, she knew, but she was shocked.

“Yes.”

Hermione burst out laughing, eliciting a distant shush from beyond the shelves. “That’s brilliant,” she whispered, finding the whole thing quite amusing.  She wouldn’t tell Ginny about the feelings she suspected Harry had for her – it was not her place – but she couldn’t help feeling a little giddy.  “Do you even like him?”

Ginny shrugged. “Well… you know I had a massive crush on him until… fourth year.”

“No! I didn’t know it was for _that_ long! But you’re only in fifth year now which means –  So you only stopped liking him _this_ year?  When you started dating Dean?”

Ginny shrugged again.  Hermione had never seen her so unsure of herself so she didn’t want to push her further and ask if she ever really stopped fancying Harry.  Maybe that was the real reason she and Dean had been so bad together.

“I still can’t believe the charm worked…” Hermione scoffed and reached for the letter. “What did you write?”

Ginny rolled her eyes and handed her the parchment grudgingly.

“ _Dear Prick_ ,” Hermione read, her eyebrow raising, “ _Stop being such a prick.  Love Ginny._ ”   She held it up to her with a wry smile, understanding why Harry would snigger at such a random note found amongst his Potions work.  “This is your idea of a love letter?”

“I thought I was writing it for Dean and we were fighting then!” She whined helplessly, her words spilling out almost incoherently.  “I didn’t think the spell would actually work, just assumed it would reveal itself to whomever you were dating at the time or something… It was all meant to be a little bit of fun but – I don’t know.”  She huffed. “Now I’m _really_ glad it wasn’t a proper love letter, imagine if Harry had got that?”

They nodded at each other, standing in silence as the reality dawned on them both.  It _wasn’t_ so ridiculous that Ginny and Harry would be true loves.  They enjoyed each other’s company, teased and play fought, they played Quidditch together and had the same sense of humour.  Add to that the fact that Harry seemed attracted to Ginny, and her to him (if she would admit it)…

It was possible that the charm – ridiculous though the idea was – _could_ have worked.  It may be real.

But if it was right about Ginny and Harry then it meant that she and Ron weren't…

No.  The logical part of Hermione’s mind told her that one piece of data was not enough to draw a trend; you can’t conclude _anything_ based on one result.  Besides, Ginny and Harry had yet to prove they were truly meant for each other.  


* * *

  
Nothing changed after that.  Ginny and Harry didn’t seem to get closer and Hermione had honestly completely forgotten about their little charms experiment.  They were trying too hard to figure out the identity of this supposed ‘Half Blood Prince’ and digging for information on these so called ‘Horcruxes.’ In between a full timetable of schoolwork, of course. 

And then there was Ron.

Things hadn’t changed between them, as such, but there was a feeling that they were progressing.  Lavender had hung around him even after the disappointment of Valentine’s Day (she was obviously doubting the charm as well) but everyone saw how Ron had been pushing her away.  Then there was the poisoned Firewhiskey incident and he had, in semi-consciousness, mentioned Hermione’s name rather than Lavender’s.  Hermione didn’t know if that was meant to be significant in any way but it was the proverbial nail in the coffin for Lavender – she stopped chasing him.  As perverse as it sounded, Hermione had never been so grateful for one of her best friends to be injured.

So the letter was forgotten.  She didn’t care about what some worthless charm thought of them and she couldn’t remember for the life of her where she had kept the bloody thing.  It was probably serving as a bookmark for one her textbooks (she always used scrap parchment).  She would just carry on, as she was meant to.  


* * *

**  
7th th May – The Dungeons, Left Viaduct Tower – Sixth Year Potions Class**

“Hermione, how many Sopophorous Beans are you putting in?”  Ron asked from behind her.

“Eight, at least that’s what the book says.”  She realised that she may have given a more snarky reply if anyone else had asked the question and interrupted her potion making groove. 

“I know, it’s just Harry’s only put six…”

She glared over at Harry.  It was irritating her that Harry had his hands on this ‘Half Blood Prince’s’ textbook, irritating that he _still_ used it. 

Slughorn liked to pose challenges each lesson: the best brewed potion would get some sort of reward.  Sometimes the reward was a significant one, like a vial of _Felix Felicis_ , other times it was a galleon worth of chocolate.  The reward didn’t matter.  She just hated that she was being outdone _by a cheater_ , and that cheater was Harry.  He had won the challenges every time this year except once, and she’d been oddly happy when Draco Malfoy brewed a slightly better Vomit-Inducing Potion, because at least _he_ hadn’t cheated.  She didn’t think.

“Well then, maybe we should both just put six,” she smiled at Ron, “He’s obviously figured out something from that darned textbook.”

Ron gave a crooked smile and sauntered back to his cauldron while she gently added her six Sopophorus Beans.

At the end, Professor Slughorn tested all of their healing potions and she got a ‘Very good Miss Granger… but I’m afraid the award must go to Mr. Potter again.”  In other words, it was another slap in the face.

At the end of class she hurriedly got her things together, loading piles of parchment atop her books and not bothering to put it all in her bag.  She probably shouldn’t be so annoyed about Harry but it always niggled in her mind and today it was definitely surfacing. She didn’t want an argument right now.

As she swung open the classroom door, several of her loose pieces of parchment flew off her books and scattered on the floor around her.  She groaned in exasperation, gathered them up and made to leave down the corridor before she heard someone call her.

“Granger.” It was a tired and bored sounding voice.

She turned with a deep-set scowl on her face.  Oh, it was Malfoy.

He looked terrible.  Well no, he still looked worthy of a muggle underwear advert (why specifically she thought of an underwear model, she did not know) but the skin under his eyes was bruised with exhaustion and he wasn’t smirking or leering or whatever he usually did.  He looked drained. 

Except his eyes, there was still something there, a glint of life amongst their darkness.

She realised they had spent the last few seconds just standing in the corridor and looking at each other, which was rather odd, so she spoke.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” She asked coolly.

“I um,” he crouched down for a piece of parchment that had floated off to the side, “I just thought you’d dropped this.”

Just as she was thinking of how unusually civil he was being, her jaw dropped open at the parchment in his hand. Tendrils of black ink plumed across the page from the points of each of his fingers, swirling into patterns before beginning to form words –

“Granger,” he prompted more harshly, “Is it yours - ?”

Her mouth still hung open and he seemed to suddenly look down at the parchment that had her so fascinated.  The words, ‘ _To whoever you are_ ,’ started to curl across the page in her handwriting.

“What the bloody he – ”

She tore it from his grasp, crumpled it into her pocket and started to walk – run – away.

His hand flew up and gripped her hard and strong around her upper arm, forcing her to look back at him.  Forcing her face and body to come within inches if his. There was something completely wild about the look he gave her, he looked anxious about something.

Malfoy didn’t seem to care about anything else that was going on around them, like the fact that their classmates were now gathering around in the corridor and wondering what was going on.

“What is it?” He seethed lowly.

“Get your hands off me, Malfoy.”

She tried to shake him off but he didn’t budge, his glare only got more murderous. “What do you _know_?”

She frowned in total confusion.  What did she know? _About what?_

Suddenly a manicured hand clasped over his shoulder.  “Draco, darling.  Why are you letting the little Mudblood aggravate you?”  Pansy’s smug pug-face appeared from behind his shoulder, her body almost draping across him.  Gosh, someone’s desperate.

A moment later a ginger head popped round shouting, “Oi, Malfoy, get your hands off Hermione!” It warmed her heart a little to see him try.

Pansy rolled her eyes.  “Come on, Draco.  Just let her go back to Potter and... her unfortunate friend. We’ve got much better things to do with our time,” Parkinson purred in his ear.

He huffed heavily, a waft of cinnamon flooding to Hermione’s nose, and then released her arm grudgingly.  But he still looked into her eyes with a piercing intensity, set his jaw.

Hermione decided to walk away, because he didn’t seem like he was going to.  Her heels clacked as she tore between Harry and Ron with her robes flapping behind her.

“What was that about, Hermione?” Ron asked quietly.  He and Harry were both practically running to keep pace with her despite being several inches taller.

“Just Malfoy being Malfoy,” she replied shortly.  But she secretly clutched the balled up letter in her pocket and wondered what on earth she was supposed to think about all of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So firstly, I hope it wasn't dull but Hermione is all about the logic and she would find every reason not to trust the charm, so i had to corner her into believing the result (or as close to believing as possible). Plus it was important to me to get across how anxious and down Draco was that year with his mission (to kill Dumbledore). 
> 
> Secondly, while I'm trying to weave canon events in I did have to shift the timescale for the purposes of getting this all to start around Valentine's Day (in the books Ron/Lavender are together over Christmas and never get to V-day) but please forgive me ;)
> 
> Let me know what you thought in the comments, including possible improvements/ criticism :) I welcome it all.


	4. Interlude Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> **Firstly,** I want to thank everyone who has read, given kudos or commented so far - I've been so overwhelmed by the response.  
>  **Secondly,** I'm so sorry for the delay. As I said, the response is far beyond what I expected and I had to make sure this was good enough (I'll explain in the after notes, don't want to talk too much before).  
>  **Lastly,** this is an interlude chapter so it's to fill in the state of affairs during and after the war from Hermione's POV. It isn't like the previous two chapters which centre around these 'signs' BUT there is a tiny hint at one hidden here. The next chapter will be on that particular sign. Wonder if anyone has any ideas?
> 
> Clearly (because of war speak) it is a tad more solemn-toned than the last few chapters but I'll get back to signs and normal/ easy going stuff soon :) Happy reading!

**2 nd May 1998 – Room of Hidden Things (Room of Requirements), Hogwarts Castle – The Battle of Hogwarts**

The door opened to a warlock bust, trophies, cages piled high and stacks of books.  It wasn’t just the Room of Requirements, it was the Room of Hidden Things, and according to the Marauder’s Map Harry had come here.  Something had led him to believe Rowena Ravenclaw’s Diadem – one of their final horcruxes – was somewhere in amongst the mountains of artefacts.

Ron tucked the map into his pocket.  “We need to look for Harry,” he whispered lowly, “He’ll need our help destroying the horcrux when he finds it.”

Hermione’s reply caught in her throat at the sound of a rumble from above, then there were several blasts sounding like gunshots or fireworks, and fragments of the ceiling scattered down around them.  It was undoubtedly a sign of the castle’s protection charms faltering under the relentless attack.

She couldn’t help but wonder how much time they had left.

Suddenly she felt Ron squeeze her hand and it pacified her, somehow.  He hadn’t let go of her since they had left the Chamber of Secrets, since they had destroyed Helga Hufflepuff’s Cup with the Basilisk fang.  Since they’d kissed.

They’d _actually kissed_.  Nothing much leading up to it and no time for anything after.  They just did it, because they had just destroyed a horcrux and because there was a battle going on outside, upstairs and everywhere around them. The moment seemed to call for it.  If Hermione was going to die, she was bloody well going die knowing what it felt like to kiss Ron Weasley.

And it felt good.

“You go that way, I’ll go this way,” she suggested with a renewed force to her voice.

Ron nodded reassuringly and released her hand before she watched him disappear behind a glass cabinet.

Hermione took in a shaky breath, turned and started down the path shrouded in darkness and littered with fallen items.  Minutes later she heard the sound of light footsteps and things being moved about.

“Well, well.”

Hermione hitched a breath, her legs bolting still on floor in fear that this person was closer than he sounded.

“What brings you here, Potter?” She heard the person continue.

It was a most distinctive voice.

Yes, she hadn’t heard it in a long time and something seemed to have smacked the arrogance and usual smugness from the tone, but it was unmistakably Malfoy.

“I could ask you same,” she heard Harry reply.  An undertone of worry in his voice shook Hermione, urged her to get moving again and find him.  He needed her; Malfoy may hurt him or worse, hand him over to Voldermort.

She rushed forward between a pile of empty guilded frames and a large sundial, sure to keep her footsteps as light as possible.  She didn’t want to startle either of them into doing something awful.

 “You have something of mine.” Malfoy sounded closer, his tone sending a tingle up her spine.  “I want it back.”

His wand, she remembered. He wanted his wand back.

“Well, what’s wrong with the one you’ve got?” It was as if Harry was right next to her now, but she didn’t know which direction his voice came from in this maze.  She was sure the room was meant to do that, it meant to disorientate.

“It’s my mother’s.  It’s powerful but it’s… not the same.”

She grew frustrated trying to follow the voices, stopping and starting in every direction; looking up at the towering cabinets around her.  Hermione halted, squeezed her eyes shut, held her breath and clasped a hand over her heart in a futile attempt to still it.  She needed to tune out all other sounds.

“It doesn’t quite… understand me,” Malfoy continued smoothly. “Do you know what I mean?”

It was no use.  She couldn’t place them, and instead she simply took a passage between a large sarcophagus and a harp.  She had no idea why.

Hermione rounded a fallen birdbath to see movement in a mirror resting on the ground.  They were slender, black suited legs with clean polished shoes – the kind that a Malfoy would wear – planted side by side.  And there were more feet next to him.  He had back-up.

Hermione sidled closer to the mirror, concealing her body against a bookshelf.  She dared to peak round to see Harry’s back turned to her, facing Malfoy, Zabini and Goyle in a hopeless stand-off.

She almost wondered why Malfoy hadn’t done anything yet.  A simple _Levicorpus_ or _Petrificus Totalus_ would have Harry incapacitated.  Even a _Locomotor Mortis_ would work – Draco Malfoy had mastered the leg locking spell in second year – yet he wasn’t doing a thing.

“Why didn’t you tell her?” Harry challenged. “Why didn’t you tell Bellatrix at the Manor?”

Hermione winced at the question.  What was he doing?

It was true, for what was supposed to be his attempt to capture Harry Potter, Malfoy didn’t seem overly committed.  He had talked far too much about getting his wand back and done far too little about the actual capture.  But it was too risky to play on Malfoy’s conscience right now.  There was no relying upon it, not when Harry had three wands pointing at him.

“You knew it was me…” Harry continued. 

She shifted her weight forward, wand raised with a curse ready on her lips, and she peered closer at the blond boy.

She was sure Malfoy wouldn’t try to kill Harry, if not for the reason that Voldermort wanted to do it himself, then because the boy simply didn’t look like he could do it.  He didn’t want to do _any_ of this, she could tell from lost expression on his face.

“Come on, Draco,” Goyle hissed from his left. “Don’t be a prat.”

Malfoy’s jaw tightened and that was it –

She leapt out in front of Harry and shot a _Stupefy!_ at Malfoy, another at Zabini.  Zabini flew back against a trebuchet-type device but Malfoy… he simply took a nudge to his shoulder.  As if it was barely anything.  It was bloody _Stupefy_ , for goodness sake!

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” She directed at Malfoy again.

Thankfully, his wand flew from his grip.  His eyes sparked and widened at her before he turned to run away.

Harry grasped her arm, “Come on, Hermi – ”

“ _Avada Kedavra!_ ” Goyle shot.

She felt it, the whisper of ice cold brushing past her cheek.  She didn’t know whether she jumped or Harry pulled her out of the way, the point was that it missed.  Just.

They both fell into a hard wooden chest.  Her lungs felt empty. 

Harry’s hands clutched tight on her upper arms and she looked up at his pained expression.  It was as if he had already thought she was dead; so many people had died before his eyes that she could hardly blame him.

He squeezed her. “You’re alright,” he said.  It wasn’t a question.  It was confirmation to himself.

Somewhere beyond the statues and empty fish tanks they heard Ron roaring, “Goyle! That’s my girlfriend you just tried to kill!”

She could have smiled as the wisp of red ran off.  _Girlfriend._

It seemed like only moments later, just as Harry retrieved the diadem from where it had fallen, that Ron was running back towards them shouting incoherently.  She didn’t hear a thing he said, only saw the panic in his eyes and a fierce glow burn through the darkness of the room.  Ron grabbed her hand and ran her down the widest passage before them.

She tripped and tumbled as the heat grew on her heels and cast a glance back to see an enflamed dragon burning a line of fire through the room.  She didn’t question where Ron got the broomsticks from, nor did she hesitate when she mounted it and took off towards the door.

“We can’t leave them!” Harry shouted, looking back at two figures – one dark haired and one glowing blond – clinging to a heap of furniture.

Ron yelled back at her. “He can’t be serious, can he?”

And for a moment she agreed with him. There was a part of her that thought they should die.  She questioned how much it would matter in the grand scheme of things; whether _she_ would ever feel the loss.  She doubted it.

A heart-shattering yelp from behind had her grimacing, and if she had the time she would have punished herself for having those thoughts.

They were just _boys_ ; young lives left in the hands of bad people.  They weren’t the evil they came back to destroy.

She stared Ron straight in the eye, steeled herself as she began her u-turn after Harry and followed him through the growing flames.  Just as she was wondering how on Earth she was going to get one of the boys on her broom without killing them both (she wasn’t exactly the strongest flyer) she felt Ron whistle past her and scoop up Blaise Zabini just after Harry took Malfoy.

With the fire reaching its full blaze, the flames licking at their feet, she threw a quick spell to part the flames before they soared out the door.  She dismounted, only to be knocked to the floor by Ron and Blaise. 

Hermione managed to lift herself to her feet just in time to see Harry and Ron stabbing the diadem with their Basilisk fang, and to see Malfoy and Zabini disappear off into the chaos. 

Malfoy had just run into the midst of battle without a wand. She had to wonder what would come of them; how long they would survive. Whether they had just saved them from the fire only to have them die another way?

* * *

**  
7th September 1998 - The Great Hall, Hogwarts - The Sorting Ceremony**

“ _‘Any other,’_ you say?  Well, you can ask all you like but you were made for…” The little boy gulped with fear while he waited. “Slytherin!” The Sorting Hat shouted with glee (and its normal hint of arrogance), but Hermione saw the child’s face fall and there was a muted applause from the tables.  Even from the Slytherin table.

It had worked for Harry way back then, asking to be in any other house than Slytherin, but those were different times.  That was the time when many were glad to be sorted into Salazar Slytherin’s house; they wore their green-lined robes proudly and reported eagerly to all their relatives.  What did it matter if one boy had snubbed them?

Things had changed now the war was over. It seemed that every child had asked to be kept out of the house – the house of Voldemort and the Death Eaters – and it simply wasn’t possible. 

Hermione watched the boy trundle along the length of the table and slide along the bench.  Even with all the first years now sorted into their houses, the Slytherin table was only just over half capacity; numbers across all the years seemed to be dwindling.

“Durmstrang,” Neville whispered, guessing what she was thinking.  She had been so lost in her mind that she jolted a little in surprise. “A lot of the families with Death Eater connections pulled their children out of Hogwarts and sent them to Norway. They thought they’d be discriminated against or bullied if they stayed – ironic, eh?”

Hermione gave a weak smile and nodded a little in agreement.

It made perfect sense, really.  The Durmstrang Institute had a reputation for sympathising with dark wizards, especially since it excluded muggleborns and apparently included the Dark Arts in its curriculum (she’d been quite troubled by this when Viktor had told her this in fourth year, thinking it was misunderstanding due to their slight language barrier).  It was the perfect place for Death Eaters to take their children, especially given the more stringent monitoring of their families in Britain.

The only thing that really didn’t make sense was why Draco Malfoy was still there. 

He was found innocent of his alleged crimes, of course, that was why he wasn’t going stir crazy in Azkabhan right now.  He was underage, acting under duress and hadn’t truly wanted to do wrong (as testified by Harry).

But that was largely irrelevant. 

To the whole school and to the whole of wizarding Britain, he was still the one that went up to the Astronomy Tower that night and held a wand against Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of their time.  If there was anyone who should have fled the country, it would be him.

Instead he was here, listening to McGonagall with that hard, uncaring expression on his face, flanked by the only other Slytherins in his year to return, Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass.

Malfoy looked better than when she had last seen him, at his trial before the Wizengamot.  He was less frail and more toned, relaxed (but obviously not entirely comfortable), and his face no longer looked like it wore a thousands sleepless night upon it.  His robes were pristine, as you might expect, but he had turned up at his trial with a rather grubby looking suit that hung off his frame; and his hair was now perfectly coifed as opposed to dishevelled.  Although she noted that his hair never really looked bad.

“… the War made many of us do things that we would never even think of doing in peacetime.” The Headmistress' voice broke her thoughts, “But the War is the past, and as we approach this new year, I ask that you think not about what may divide us but rather of what brings us together.” She paused for a moment, gave a penetrating look that seemed to focus on everyone but, then again, at no one in particular.  “We are all here, in these hallowed halls, with a common purpose: education. And it is _my_ belief, that the highest result of education is tolerance…”

Tolerance. Minerva McGonagall was too wise a woman to expect unity so soon; to expect the whole school to become chummy with the Slytherins overnight, especially since many had suffered injuries and loss of family.  It may not, however, have been too much to ask that they don’t perpetuate the war and make each other’s lives a complete misery.

Tolerance was the right word. 

Just then Malfoy took a slow blink from the front of the hall and settled his eyes directly on Hermione.  His gaze seemed softer than it had been not long before, but she still struggled under the intensity, wondering whether he truly meant to look at her at all or if she just happened to be in his line of sight.  She didn’t know whether to look away, or even if she wanted to look away.

His eyes abruptly dropped from her, as if he had realised.  He dragged his arms off the table to his lap and bowed his head further, staring down intently. 

A heartbeat later she realised.  His mark. 

A heartbeat after that she remembered her own.

_Mudblood._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, did anyone spot the hint? Any theories? 
> 
> Again, so sorry for the delays. I honestly thought I'd be quicker but it was tough to not have JKR's material anymore... I had the basic plans (about the signs I want to talk about) sorted but I realised I should think about scenes that show how characters changed post-war - I needed these two scenes somewhere but they didn't seem to fit anywhere else. 
> 
> The response has been so great so far that I didn't want to let people down by not thinking things through properly, so I've now got a much more detailed plan to work with. I can honestly say the next chapter won't be too far away.
> 
> As always, I greatly appreciate all comments and criticism. I love hearing your thoughts!
> 
>  
> 
>  **Credits:**  
>  **-** Dialogue in the first scene is largely taken from _the Deathly Hallows Part II_ movie so all credit to those writers and JKR. It's the Room of Requirements scene but totally in Hermione's POV, with _her_ reflections of the situation and Draco. I decided to go with the movie version because it felt shorter and I sort of wanted Blaise around instead of Crabbe.  
>  **-** The quote _"The highest result of education is tolerance" ___is by Helen Keller and I can't agree with it enough.


	5. Interlude Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello,  
> I'm going to stop promising timely updates (since I tend to disappoint, sorry) but I wanted to say thank you to anyone who is keeping up with my irregularity and anyone bothering to read, comment or give kudos :)
> 
> I'm struggling with deciding how to split my chapters. As I said, I'm going beyond the books which means there's scene setting to be done and each of these chapters and new signs are turning into monsters! I _could_ just do the signs but I thought it was important for Draco/Hermione to slowly make sense, rather than go from Hermione totally in love with Ron and hating Draco to suddenly wanting to be with Draco...
> 
> So this chapter is scene setting for the next sign and tells you a bit about Draco and Hermione and how they're handling post-war life. No sign reveals itself yet (sorry), but hope you still enjoy!

* * *

 

Her first few days at Hogwarts were… strange, for want of a better word.  After their whole magical community had been at war, fearing for their lives, it was peculiar to be back here worrying about essays and who the next Gryffindor seeker would be.  It all seemed a little redundant and there was the smallest part of Hermione that thought she didn’t belong at Hogwarts anymore.

Ron and Harry hadn’t come back, they had been allowed straight onto the auror training program off the back of their war efforts.  Hermione had received many similar offers from the Ministry of Magic – some in Magical Law Enforcement, some in Creature Rights – and she had seriously considered taking them.  But then she knew she would always regret not coming back to take her NEWTs.

So she was here, in this reconstituted seventh/eighth year and everything was different. 

For one, she had Ginny and Luna as study companions instead of Harry and Ron, which took getting used to.  They talked far less about Quidditch and both had remarkable work ethic; they didn’t need to be molly-coddled through anything.  Neville went from being the butt of jokes to everyone’s hero, and even a sort of  _heartthrob_  amongst the younger girls (something he found more than a little embarrassing); and Hermione, well, she couldn’t walk down a corridor without everyone gawking.  When people looked at her like that before, it was usually something to do with her birds-nest of hair or having ink smudged on her face.  It was never because she was just  _her_.

She suspected everything would die down in a few days, once classes had actually started and work piled up, but the point was things had changed.  She could tell that already.  


* * *

**  
10th September – Classroom 3C, Third Floor – Seventh/Eighth Year Defence Against the Dark Arts**

Well, this was something she wasn’t used to.  One year out and she had totally forgotten what it was like to be around  _obnoxious idiots_.

“Cormac, don’t be so rude!”  A feminine voice scolded from the table behind, but the lilt and giggling that accompanied clearly showed she was loving whatever he had just said. 

Cormac McLaggen.  She was rather hoping the war would have matured him – made him less vain and more thoughtful – but there was apparently no such luck.  If there was anyone who truly had enjoyed returning to Hogwarts, it had to be him.  He had struck out long ago with all the girls in their year and all the Gryffindor girls who had progressed past a training bra, but this mix with Ginny’s year brought him a fresh new crop to lay his slobbery kisses and oafish advances upon.  Exhibit A being the busty, blonde Hufflepuff with the piercing laugh, Priscilla Dyer, who was sitting beside him right now.

“No really,” McLaggen muttered in his companion’s ear (but not so quietly that Hermione and Ginny could actually ignore him, he obviously wanted them to hear), “I think it’s true what they say about blondes – they are  _way_  more fun.”

Ginny and Hermione collectively rolled their eyes at each other.

“Oh, you really think so?” Priscilla asked in a hopelessly dreamy voice that made Hermione want to gag.  She didn’t look back but imagined the girl tossing her hair, basking in her blondeness.

“ _Definitely._   You’d think redheads would be kind of exciting, but they’re all crazy.  Awful tempers.”

Ginny flashed Hermione a look.

“And brunettes,” he continued, “They’re all just boring old prudes.”

Both Hermione and Ginny were already half turned to give Cormac a piece of their minds when the mild murmur of the classroom suddenly died around them.  Hermione only saw the faces fall and necks crane towards the door. 

“Wha - ?”

“Malfoy,” Ginny answered instantly, in a sound that was little more than a breath.

Hermione’s reaction was delayed, but she slowly peaked round to see him with his books tucked into his side and his friend, Zabini, walking in front of him. 

She had barely seen him around in the past few days since their return, but she figured he was hiding.  Anyone would probably go into hiding if they got such a frosty response every time they walked into a room.

“What’s  _he_  doing here?” Cormac sneered loudly.

Hermione shot him a piercing glare.  Merlin, could he _ever_  just keep his mouth shut?

“I know.  The bloody cheek!” Priscilla added.

Her jaw tensed even further.  She was so sure Malfoy could hear them, and the last thing anyone needed was a riled up Death Eater on their hands. 

Well,  _ex_ -Death Eater. She supposed.

More whispers had erupted around the classroom and dozens of eyes watched the two of them as they made their way to a table a few rows back and to the left of Hermione.

“It’s ridiculous that they let him come back,” Cormac said again, and after several minutes of the same circular conversation between McLaggen and his companion – when Hermione thought anyone with a normal level of patience may have snapped – she dared to look round to Malfoy again.

She was surprised to see the stoic expression on his face, glancing down at his clasped hands while he sat back in his chair and listened to the odd comment from Zabini. 

A picture of complete diffidence. 

It was so very unlike the Malfoy she knew – not to react or be provoked despite everything going on around him.  No one was exactly being subtle, after all. But then Slytherins were known for their adaptability and, in particular, their sense of self-preservation.

Gryffindors, apparently not so much.

“I just can’t believe Potter testified for a  _Death Eater_...” Cormac spat again.  Like a broken record.

Ginny finally cracked.  “It’s because Harry didn’t  _bloody_ think he deserved to go to Azkaban,” she hissed.  In truth, she hadn't been particularly happy that he had testified but she had known it was right thing to do, so she supported him and now fiercely defended her boyfriend’s decision.

Cormac, though, was unrelenting. “Doesn’t explain why he’s here. At Hogwarts – ”

“Have you ever thought I may be here for the same reason as you, McLaggen?” Malfoy voice cut in like a dagger. There was an odd… calmness to it, sending a shiver up Hermione’s spine.  It had her reaching for her wand. “To study Defence Against the Dark Arts?  Get a decent NEWT?  Well, in your case, maybe just a NEWT.”

“Draco…” Zabini warned quietly, but Malfoy placidly ignored him.

“Obviously you don’t believe that though,” he continued evenly.  “You think I’m some living embodiment of the Dark Arts.  Voldermort 2.0.  So maybe,” he leaned forward on his desk and narrowed his pewter eyes at Cormac, “I’m just your final exam.”

From the corner of her eye she could see him sit back in his chair, not the least bit concerned about the awkward silence that had fallen about the room, his mask of indifference falling perfectly back in place. But there was one change.  It was faint – almost imperceptible – but she as sure so sure she saw the hint of a smile. That was when she realised she hadn’t seen it in years.

Then there was inelegant snort of laughter to her right.

“Ginny!?” Hermione gritted, giving her a wide eyed glare.  It was absolutely  _not_  the right time to laugh or draw _any_  sort of attention.

“What?” She whispered back, “We’ve wanted to shut McLaggen up for years! Someone’s  _finally_ been able to do it.” She looked back and sniggered, “Look at Cormac’s face, pouting like he just got his bottom smacked.”

Hermione pursed her lips but she couldn’t help it when they turned up into a small smile, or when she found herself sneaking another look at Malfoy, only looking away when their teacher entered the room.

“Morning class,” he flashed them all a grin.  “Welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

Their new professor was Evander Newell, a curse-breaker, close friend of Bill Weasley’s and about as far from a typical professor as you could possibly get.  He looked at least thirty years younger than most of them, rugged and sporting multiple piercings (perhaps that was ‘a thing’ amongst curse-breakers), although she noted the dress shirt and removal of several hoops and studs as a vague effort to conform.

“So,” he began, perching on the edge of his desk, “I am a little at a loss when it comes to teaching your year because I look around and I feel there isn’t an awful lot I can do for you.”

Hermione felt her eyebrow creeping up in question.

“You’re not a bunch of third years I’m teaching to fend off Grindylows, you’re seventh and eighth years,” he explained in a slightly grave tone. “Many of you have already fought in a war, and if not, I’m sure you’ve been battle trained far beyond what you would need to gain a NEWT.  For example,” Newell gestured vaguely to the room, “How many of you know the basics of defensive shields – the kind you might use on your home to protect against an attack?”

Some were faster than others, but eventually the whole class had put their hands up.

He nodded approvingly, “Right.  What about casting a Reductor Curse? That’s a risky one.”

Hermione gave a sideways smile to Ginny.  She was particularly good at it.

Again, everyone had put their hands up.

“Okay… and now, how many of you have successfully conjured a Patronus?  Corporeal or incorporeal?”

Hermione and Ginny reached up and watched as others (most of whom had been Dumbledore’s Army members) joined them.  The majority had their hands raised.  In fact, possibly _all_  except – and most notably – Malfoy. 

“Most of you then,” Newell said lightly, but she didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered in Malfoy’s direction.  “And that sort of magic is definitely beyond NEWT level,” he finished with a renewed smile, before turning to his black board. 

Everyone knew a Patronus was highly complex to cast in any form, let alone the corporeal form, and it required the purest and happiest of memories to successfully conjure.  The average witch or wizard may never master it, even gifted ones may struggle well into their adulthood, but  _dark_  wizards – it was said – would never be able to cast it.  The books hadn’t been clear when Hermione had read up on the topic way back in third year (when she was equal parts curious and jealous that Lupin was teaching Harry the spell), but it was claimed that dark wizards were unable to form pure memories, since most of their joy is derived from doing unspeakable acts at another’s expense.  Others had said that with a corrupted soul came corrupted memories.

She felt him there, in her periphery, and wondered if that was what Malfoy was.  A dark wizard. Impure, corrupt, incapable of pure happiness. He certainly had the mark to suggest so.

“…So you see,” Newell continued, pulling her back from her thoughts, “Since you already know how to cast these spells my job is already half done, but, of course, I’ll be there to help you to fill in the gaps in your theory, especially facing dark creatures such as Inferi and Runespoors.  Otherwise,” he beamed, “We will prepare for the practical element of your NEWT in the form of bi-weekly duel sessions.”

 _Duel_  sessions?

Her eyes fluttered around the whole room which was suddenly buzzing with joy and she could feel Ginny perking up beside her, becoming more engaged.

It  _was_  exciting – novel, even. That was, after all, why they had set up Dumbledore’s Army back in fifth year, because they had never truly been able to practice defensive techniques in class, only learn the theory of them.  Teachers had thought it was too dangerous and now, she had to admit… she almost agreed with them.  Duelling wasn’t meant to be fun, it was necessary.  You did it to stay alive.  And when they practiced with the DA they had been able to choose who they invited, keep it between friends who were capable and _trusted_ rather than having to be up against the likes of Cormac or Blaise Zabini or –

Malfoy.  


* * *

   
“You didn’t seem that happy,” Ginny stated later as they were walking to their next lesson, “About the duel sessions.” 

She had almost forgotten that Ginny was both more perceptive and more nosy than Ron or Harry had ever been.  It was much harder to hide things from her.

“No, it’ll be great,” she said, straining a smile, “Like Dumbledore’s Army all over again.”

Ginny laughed, “Yeh, except it’s not fifteen-year-old Harry teaching us!”

“Harry wasn’t bad – ”

“No, of course not! He was – is – great,” Ginny almost rolled her eyes at herself.  She was still shy about gushing over Harry.  “But I don’t remember us thinking very hard about health and safety in the DA,” she frowned playfully, then rather unexpectedly tugged Hermione’s free arm and hugged it to her side.  “Newell will keep us safe,” she promised, suddenly more serious, “ _I’ll_  keep you safe.”

Hermione looked into her blue eyes – the kindness that stared back – and gave her the smile she knew she wanted to see, nodded in understanding.  In that moment she both loved and hated that Ginny could see right through her, could see how shaken she still was.  


* * *

**  
12 th September 1998 – Gryffindor Common Room**

Hermione huffed at the page in  _Spellman’s Syllabary_  and roughly pulled a strand of hair behind her ear before looking to the page she had open in  _Advanced Rune Translations_ , then to another page in  _Boone’s Runes_. Then back again.

She had to admit she was out of practice – she hadn’t exactly had the time to run through translations last year – but it was so frustrating to have things that were practically second nature at one point in her life suddenly become such an effort.  And this passage was particularly challenging, with some odd contextualisation that she simply couldn’t get her head around.

She furrowed her brow at her parchment again –

_Tap tap._

She breathed deep.

_Tap tap tap._

_Tap tap tap tap tap._

Urgh, and that bloody bird kept turning up!

She dropped her quill and threw open the window to let the owl fly in and sit expectantly in front of Ginny, slumped forward over her Charms work in sleep.  Hermione took the letter from the owl’s beak, slightly damp with rain (or possibly even slobber) and looked at the tell-tale handwriting across the front.

“Gin,” Hermione shook her. “It’s another letter from Harry,” she explained quietly (and with a pained effort to sound less irritated) when she woke up and looked at her drowsily. 

Ginny’s face suddenly lit up and Hermione almost felt bad when she pulled the letter out of her reach at just the last moment.

“I’ll only give this to you if you promise to sleep tonight rather than owling Harry until the crack of dawn,” she said sternly.

“How did you kn - ?”

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at her. “You’re asleep on the table at 3 in the afternoon! Not to mention that owl is ridiculously loud.”

It wasn’t quite as bad as Erroll, of course – it didn’t slam into windows at breakneck speed and knock over everything in its general vicinity – but it had kept her up last night with its rather enthusiastic tapping on their dorm window, and then when Ginny had stumbled through the darkness out to the common room, she’d still been able to hear the insistent screeches every now and then signalling the arrival of a new letter. 

“Oh… Bertha.” Ginny cringed at the round-bellied owl and stroked her beak.  “Poor thing, she’s quite old, and Harry and I think she may be deaf – hence the loudness… Sorry,” she added sheepishly.

Hermione shook her head gently, “Don’t be,” she smiled, “Just  _promise me_  you’ll sleep tonight?”

Ginny rolled her eyes and snatched the envelope from Hermione’s grip with her annoying Chaser reflexes. “Yes,  _mother_.”

Satisfied, Hermione turned back to her parchment and frustrating Runes work, only to look back and see Ginny smiling goofily as she read the words.

It was actually quite sweet that Harry’s scrawly letter could have such an effect on her, but in all honesty Hermione couldn’t understand how they had so much to say to each other. It had only been  _five days_  since Harry and Ron had seen them off on the  _Hogwart’s Express_  but they must have exchanged at least two dozen letters in that time.  She and Ron hadn’t sent any yet.  She assumed he would write if he had something to say and she didn’t think there was anything much to report on her end – he was unlikely to care about the advanced Arithmancy project she was taking on this year.

“Harry said he’s coming up to Hogsmead in two weeks’ time,” Ginny beamed from over the letter, “Is that when Ron’s coming as well?  Maybe we could all do something together?”

“Erm,” Hermione shifted awkwardly in her chair, “I don’t know yet – I’ll have to write to him.”

“Oh.” Ginny’s eyebrows twitched into a slight frown before jokingly saying, “Sorry, I just thought  _Hermione Granger_  – planning extraordinaire – would have every boyfriend’s visit pencilled into her calendar months in advance.”

Hermione laughed half-heartedly, shaking her head as she got back to her work.

But that  _did_ sound an awful lot like her, and now she wondered whether it was odd that she and Ron hadn’t discussed the idea of visiting or even writing to each other - they never really talked about those things.  They had never really talked about  _them_ , actually.

After years of _bickering_ and jealousy over each other’s love lives, the War had thrown them together and they found what they needed to deal with the aftermath in each other.  Or more specifically, each other’s beds. They’d both been through so much over the year, and then they each had their own struggles.  Ron had lost Fred, and every day he woke up to see George a shadow of himself and his once happy family fraying at the seams. 

Hermione as well, had her parents back and the Ministry had helped her reverse the  _Obliviate_  spell, but it was nothing like she had hoped.  Her Mum and Dad returned with half the memories and broken hearts, because they hadn’t been able to help their daughter when she was in need and they didn’t know what they had forgotten of their lives together.  They had started to remember more and more but she could see them doubting themselves at every turn, and that normal family life that had kept her rooted through all her magical troubles over the years was odd and uncomfortable.

Sex and Ron had just been such an easy way to deal with it all.  It made her feel good.

Hermione had been a virgin before and, yes, it went a lot faster than she ever would have planned, but she figured that she didn’t need time to get to know Ron – she already trusted him – so it was about healing first and the talking, she had presumed, would come later. 

It hadn’t, she _now_  realised.

Of course, they still talked, but it was about Death Eater trials and taking up auror training and how Mrs. Weasley was doing.  They didn’t talk about  _them_  and where they were going when life resumed ‘as normal.’ 

“If you fret over every Ancient Runes text like that you’ll have wrinkles before your twenty,” Ginny suddenly said, folding up a piece of parchment.

She hadn’t even realised she had been frowning over her work in thought, apparently for quite a while since Ginny had already written her response to Harry, ready to send off.

“Ginny, wait,” Hermione called as she was giving the owl her letter.  “Let me just write a letter to Ron.  Bertha can take them both to Grimmauld Place.”

Hermione determinedly started scratching out her note.

The problem was that she didn’t know how to be someone’s girlfriend, but she _did_  know that she had wanted this relationship for as long as she could remember so she was bloody well going to try and make it work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, yes the duelling session are important. Not a random digression :)
> 
> Secondly, so sorry about Cormac. He annoyed me too but the arrogant jerks who fall on the right side of wars are probably the worst. And arrogant jerks like Draco that fall on the wrong side may just change their ways.
> 
> Lastly (but not at all least), I was a bit nervous about the relationship dynamics I've created. I hope the way I've made Hermione/Ron progress (or not progress) seems reasonable and possible? I'll develop them more in Part II of this episode. And I hope Ginny & Harry look healthy and happy (by comparison) without being completely ridiculous. Obviously messaging each other incessantly isn't the only way to have a good relationship but I was trying to make a point.
> 
> As always, let me know what you think!


	6. No Offence (Pt. 1/2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> Another installment and you'll see the sign fully reveal itself/ be explained in the next part which is coming very soon - honestly, I'm just editing it. I'm splitting it because I thought 8000 word chapters were perhaps too much.
> 
> By way of **hints to look out for** , consider any instances of pain ;)
> 
> Happy Reading :)

* * *

 

**1 st December 1998 – The Hog’s Head, Hogsmead**

Hermione sat in a booth in _The Hog’s Head_ nursing her tumbler of mulled mead whilst trying, desperately, not to look as intimidated as she was.  It wasn’t quite as bad as it used to be –  marginally cleaner and the patrons didn’t seem quite as shady – but it still wasn’t exactly prime location for a date.  Gambling, maybe, or some black market transaction, but certainly not a _date_.

She had to wonder why Ron ever wanted to meet here of all places, since he had made it abundantly clear in past how awful he found it.  During his last few trips to Hogsmead they’d usually met at _The Three Broomsticks_ , shared a couple of Butterbeers with Luna, the Patils and Neville.  Instead she was sitting here while shaggy men at the bar leered at her with decayed teeth and bleary eyes.

She pursed her lips and dipped her head further into her muggle book, _The Painted Veil_   noticing, briefly, that the word ‘cholera’ was underlined. She had read the book a few times but didn’t remember doing that.  Nor, for that matter, could she remember bending the spine –

“Hermione.”

“Ron!” She smiled, jumping up to hug him. 

He stumbled and braced himself against the table with a ‘woah.’

“Sorry,” she giggled, pulling back with a grin to look at him. 

Gosh, he really was a scruff-pot.  That ginger hair was everywhere (and if _she_ thought that then it really was saying something), his face was splotched red from the cold and his coat was all crooked on his frame.

“Hermione. Hermione, stop,” he groaned, gently brushing off her hands. Without realising she had already started dusting snowflakes off his shoulder and rearranging the lapel of his coat. “You’re acting like Mum.”

“Oh… sorry.”  She bit the inside of her cheek and dropped back to her seat.  Fidgeting for a moment, she asked, “Erm, so why did you want to meet here?”

“Oh,” he grinned crookedly, “I wanted to meet up some place off the beaten track so we wouldn’t run into a bunch of people.  You know, like Luna or Neville.  I mean, I like them and all but… I wanted it to just be you and me today.”

Hermione looked at him wide eyed. “Really…?”

It felt like her stomach was fluttering with Cornish Pixies and she probably looked like an idiot with how much she was smiling.  He just wanted to spend some _alone time_ with her.

Suddenly this dirty, dingy hole didn’t seem quite so bad.

“Let’s go,” he said tugging her hand softly

“Okay,” she nodded, “But where?”

“The castle.  I’ve got the Marauder’s Map so – ”

“What?” She frowned, her hand lurching out of Ron’s grip.

She was expecting him to say something like _Madame Puddifoot’s_ or _Honeydukes_.  She would even take the Quidditch shop at the moment but going back to Hogwarts only meant one thing.

“The castle,” he repeated, “We can get – ”

“Ron!” She gritted, her eyes darted everywhere hoping that no one was watching this exchange. “I don’t want to be those people who just…” Gosh, she really hated talking about sex. “ _‘Do the dirty’_ and get on their way,” she said, lowering her voice.  “I’d like to actually talk.  You know, find out how things are going…”

He looked at her, bewildered.  “We can talk back at Hogwarts – “

 “Or,” she stressed, “We could order you a Butterbeer and talk here.  Maybe walk around the shops for a bit?”  She knew that there’d be absolutely no talking once they snuck through the secret passages into the dorms together.  They usually acted like they were both prisoner’s due for a conjugal visit.  In and out.

“Fine.”

She beamed widely at him when he slumped down into the bench opposite her and waved at the bar for another drink.  Although, she had to wonder whether any of this should really be considered a triumph.

“So tell me what’s new with training,” she began.

Ron reeled off a bunch of stories from work.  He was quite the storyteller, she had to give him that, but there were obviously some in-jokes and people she didn’t know about so it annoyed her that she often missed the point of the story.  Then it annoyed her even more when Ron would cast off her questions with an ‘I guess you had to be there.’  As if it was all beyond her.

“What about you?” He finally asked, “How’s school?”

There was a derogatory tone about the way he said ‘school’ which she chose to ignore – she didn’t want to fight, afterall – and instead told him bits and bobs about duelling sessions, Potions mishaps (not hers) and the like.

“What about Crookshanks, is he still a moody arse?”

She scowled, “Ron!”

“Sorry, I had to,” he smiled crookedly, to which she had to let a glimmer of amusement break across her face. 

A few moments later, Ron was wandering up to the bar to buy them another round of mulled mead and, just as she thought everything was going swimmingly –

“Malfoy.” Ron hissed, and she could have jumped out her skin in fright.  He clanged their drinks on the table, stared back at her with a cold look she rarely got from him. “He’s _here_. In the next booth.”

Hermione threw a glance back.  Godric, she wondered if he could hear them; if he had heard them before…

“Well, I suppose he has to drink somewhere, Ron.” And she thought he was unlikely to want to go to _The Three Broomsticks_ , crawling with students who would stare at him the whole time _._   And after _Imperio_ -ing Madame Rosmerta.  That may be awkward.

“No, I mean – I thought he would be at Durmstrang like all the other Death Eaters.” She shushed him but he took no notice. “But he’s here? At Hogwarts? With you.  And Ginny.” 

The only reason she didn’t roll her eyes was because he looked so sincere.  Though he really should have known Malfoy was here, it was plastered all over the papers for most of September ( _“Deathly Surprise – Malfoy Heir Returns to Hogwarts”)._

“It’s fine Ron, I’m sure he hardly takes notice of us.”  She wouldn’t mention that she kept an eye on him, though.  At first it was out of some residual fear of him and his family, now it was just… _because_.

“Is he in your classes?” He asked insistently.

“Yes – ”

“Which ones?”

“Well – um – all of them…” She replied, her voice faltering. Strangely, it was the first time she'd ever acknowledged that they had chosen exactly the same subjects.

“And you didn’t think to mention this to me?!” Ron asked incredulously.

They were speaking in a shouting-whisper which she wasn’t sure ever worked and she was horribly aware that Malfoy was just on the other side of the wooden-divide.  Hermione got up, pulling Ron out the door, abandoning their drinks.

She wasn’t going to argue surrounded by drunken goons.  And Malfoy.

“Well?” She demanded, still putting on her coat and tugging her scarf a little too tight round her own neck.

“You tell me – ” Ron began, fighting to put his arm through one of his jacket sleeves, “ – about Luna’s new _cabbage pendant_ and Neville growing _another_ new plant that barks or meows or whatever, but don’t bother to tell me about the fact that there’s a Death Eater sitting a few metres away from you most of the bloody day?”

 _Ex_ -Death Eater, she thought.  But saying that may infuriate him more rather than settle him.

“I didn’t think it was important!” She huffed back, yanking on a glove. “And you never ask me about my classes or who’s in them – ”

“What’s _that_ supposed to – ?”

A bell rang as the door of _The Hog’s Head_ swung open onto the street, a blond head ducking down against the rush of cold, his lean body shrouded in a fine grey coat and hugging a book to his chest.  Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes trailing up from Ron’s feet and meeting his glare with one of his own. 

He didn’t smirk or sneer.  In fact, he had schooled each and every one of his delicate features to impassivity but the look, alone, was enough to bristle Ron.  And when Malfoy’s eyes locked onto Hermione's, glinting, she could feel Ron about to burst.

Her arm hooked into her boyfriend’s. “Come on, Ron,” she murmured, narrowing her eyes at Malfoy. 

She was dragging him down the snow covered lane that lead back to the heart of the village, only casting her eyes back for a moment to see Malfoy walking in the other direction toward Merlin-knew-what.  He looked so alone.

By the time they got to the main street, she had thought the whole incident (if you could really call it that) with Malfoy was forgotten, but after a few minutes of silence – very bitter and uncomfortable silence – she gently tried to take Ron’s hand to shake him from it. He flinched away and she had to try her level best not to huff or roll her eyes in exasperation. 

Brooding didn’t suit Ron, because it was never really brooding.  Brooding is what a man did in a quiet sort of way but what Ron did was more akin to a childish sulk and it was always incredibly frustrating.

She wasn’t even sure she had done anything wrong!

“Ron, please!” She felt a crackle from the tip of her finger as she reached for him again and he snapped his hand away at the shock of magic she gave him.

“Ow, Hermione!  Watch your magic!” He told her, before pacing off down the road ahead.

She could feel her face warming with anger.  And embarrassment.  It had become a habit of hers; every time she and Ron had a tiff (and it wasn’t _that_ often), she would find herself losing control of her magic.  Nothing major would happen – no blown up aunts floating over the country – but she would zap him.

At nineteen, she was meant to be a fully matured woman and witch, not losing control of her magic like a child!  Her parents had said she did this when she was younger, zapping her peg boards or homework when she couldn’t work it out – it was times like that which made them suspect there was something unusual about her.  On occasion, she would even zap her parents if she lost her temper with them, but they said it never hurt.

Ron, on the other hand, moans like anything.  She didn’t know whether her parents were just being kind or if Ron was being overdramatic.

Hermione shook herself from her thoughts when she heard a familiar voice ahead of them. 

“Ugh! It tastes like rotten eggs!” Ginny scowled.

Ron had been leading them towards a shop where Harry was standing outside, chuckling at Ginny.  

“Harry!” Ginny pushed him lightly, “You knew it was a horrible one!” 

“They’re called _Bertie Bott’s **Every** Flavour Beans_, Ginny.  They could be literally anything!  How could I have known _that one_ was going to be bad?” Harry laughed back. Hermione trudged through the snow trying to catch up with Ron.

“I don’t know, but you did!  That’s why you _so generously_ gave that one to me.”  They both crossed the road to see Ginny throwing her arms around Harry’s neck and tilt her head up to his.  “Kiss me,” she demanded reaching up to his lips playfully.

“Uhh, no! I can smell your eggy breath.” He craned his head away from her, trying to nuzzle into her neck and avoid a kiss on the mouth.

“Yes, urgh,” Ron interrupted, still with an undercurrent of sulk in his voice. “No kissing my little sister in front of me. _Please_.”

Ginny rolled her eyes at him and then turned back to Harry. “If you loved me you’d kiss anyway.  Bad breath or not,” she grinned.

Ordinarily, Hermione would have found the whole thing extraordinarily cheesy but it was quite romantic, the way Harry cradled Ginny’s head gently and placed a chaste kiss on her lips (more to avoid the flavour than with any regard for Ron).  They grinned back at each other with ease, as if they’d momentarily forgotten where they were and who was around.  At that moment, more than any other, Hermione was immensely jealous at how easily the two of them connected after their time apart.

Hermione turned to her boyfriend to see the grimace plastered across his face and tentatively brushed his arm in affection.  Even though Harry had practically lived at The Burrow (and very unofficially, in Ginny’s room) for the entire summer, Ron still hadn’t quite got his head around the two of them together.  He always referred to them as ‘my little sister’ and ‘my best friend’ when he talked about it, as if to stress the absurdity of their romance, but there was evidently nothing absurd about it.

“Do you two want to come with us to _Gladrags_?” Harry asked, now with his arm draped casually across his girlfriend’s shoulders.  “I’m thinking Ginny needs some of those socks that shout when they get smelly,” he added, Ginny scoffing next to him.

“Alright. We didn’t really have anything better planned,” Ron answered sourly, and as they walked off down the street she couldn’t help that sunken feeling forming in the pit of her stomach.  


* * *

**  
3 rd December 1998 – Classroom 3C, Third Floor – Seventh/Eighth Year Defence Against the Dark Arts **(Duel Session III)

There were wisps of light everywhere, people bumping into one another, others nursing parts of their bodies.  A few were even on the floor.

“Remember class, only the agreed spells! And please say them out loud, it acts as a small warning! We’ll do non-verbal spells another time.” Professor Newell’s voice rose above the murmur of spells and sizzles of magic as he paced calmly down the length of the room.

The last few duel sessions had been about safety, rules on which spells they could use, revising defensive spells and then more safety.  This was the first time they were throwing spells at each other without knowing when or which one to expect. 

“ _Vermillious!_ ”

“ _Protego!_ ” Hermione threw off Ginny’s spell and shot back. “ _Petrificus Totalus!_ ”

Ginny dove out the way only to collide with Blaise Zabini who was staggering back and doubled over in laughter under the force of a _Titillando_ from his duelling partner. 

“I didn’t think you could be taken out with something as simple as a tickling hex, Zabini,” she heard Malfoy say, not with any cruelty or ridicule, just with a smile on his lips – one that brightened his entire face and made her look for perhaps a moment longer than she should have.

Malfoy had always been quite… attractive.  Unfortunately.  Being a straight woman with functioning eyes, she had grudgingly accepted that years ago and her only saving grace was that she found his personality so utterly repugnant – every sneer and turned up nose had been a reminder of that.  He hadn’t been quite so vile lately, for obvious reasons, and with the warmth of a smile across his face she had to admit it was easier to see what all those other girls had found so appealing in the past.

“ _Everte statum!_ ” She distantly heard someone shout.  Someone that sounded a lot like Gin –

Hermione only realised what was happening when she felt a shock of pain run from her neck down the whole of her right side and her body was thrown back against the wall.

“Oh my gosh, Hermione!”  Ginny ran to her, crouching over with a curtain of red hair.  “I’m so sorry –

“Bloody hell, Ginny!” Hermione winced when her friend tried to touch her.  “That was brutal.”

“I didn’t think that spell would do much!” She explained helplessly, “It didn’t seem to have much of an effect on Ron or Harry – ”

“You used that on Harry?!”  She rubbed her neck tenderly. 

“In the DA, yes.  And he said it felt like a pinch and small shove – we thought it was pretty useless.”

“Well I can tell you it most definitely does _not_ feel like a pinch,” she grumbled.  It felt like being pricked by hundreds of needles.

“I said I was sorry… Besides,” Ginny sat back on her heels, her hands going to her hips, “It’s not entirely my fault – why didn’t you protect yourself? You didn’t even _try_ to duck or counter me.”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but decided against it. 

Ginny narrowed her eyes sceptically, her lips quirking up at the edges. “You were distracted… Go on, what was it?  Something you read? Composing essays in that massive brain of yours? Or,” she asked teasingly, “It wouldn’t be by thoughts of my dear brother, would it?”

Hermione pursed her lips in response, refusing to admit to anything.  Not to being distracted by a boy and _certainly_ not to being distracted by one who wasn’t even her boyfriend.   _And_ was a former Death Eater.

But she was blushing fiercely and Ginny’s eyes twinkled with mischief. 

“You took me by surprise,” was all she said, shoving at her friend playfully and making an active effort not to look at the two boys who still laughed as they flicked jinxes at each other.  “Come on, let’s get back to it,” Hermione said, getting to her feet and dusting herself off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this isn't getting boring and/or ridiculous? If so, please tell me!
> 
> So I've developed the Hermione/Ron relationship a little and I really want to say that I don't want to engage in too much Ron bashing. I just want to show that they're not really on the same page...
> 
> And, of course, another big thank you to anyone who has commented and given kudos. It's always so encouraging to see!


	7. No Offence (Pt. 3/3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone,  
> So the third sign is properly revealed! As well as some head-butting (of the non-banterous but awkward-truths kind) because, as I'm sure you've realised, Draco been treading very carefully and Hermione isn't liking the act.  
> Also, I wanted to say a huge thank you for all the kudos and comments last chapter (and, indeed, for the whole fic so far). I got such a lovely response and it's encouraging to hear people enjoying what I'm writing! 
> 
> Remember **my hint from last chapter:** look out for instances of pain (or lack thereof) as you're reading ;) 
> 
> Happy reading!

* * *

**17 th December – Classroom 3C, Third Floor – Seventh/Eighth Year Defence Against the Dark Arts **(Duel Session IV)

Ginny was in the infirmary – a hideous Quidditch accident from yesterday’s match between Slytherin and Gryffindor, where she had found herself tangled up with Blaise Zabini and the Slytherin Keeper, spiralling out of the sky and landing in a heap in the sand below.  Slughorn and Flitwick had only just been able to slow their fall, so they were all winded by the time they hit the floor and it wasn’t entirely clear which limb belonged to which person, but Ginny had just been happy that Gryffindor had won in the end.  Never mind the chipped teeth, six broken ribs and bad concussion. 

“Worth it,” she had groaned, as Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes casting half a dozen _Brackium Emendo_ spells _._

Hermione could only assume that was the concussion talking.

And so, she found herself alone for the duelling session and wondering which pair to awkwardly tag onto.  There was Dean and Seamus, but she didn’t fancy having her hair burnt to a crisp by one of Seamus’ spells, not now she had got it to behave (somewhat) with a concoction of potions.  She had eventually ended up with the Hufflepuffs, Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchly, watching from the sidelines and waiting for her turn as they both, rather courteously, handed alternate strikes to each other.  It was dull and totally unrealistic, but she wouldn’t say that to them.

 “Miss Granger!” Professor Newell called from the side and she lifted her head to see him waving her over to a corner of the room. 

“Professor…” She greeted quietly, although she wasn’t really looking at him but at Malfoy who stood just behind.  He had a gash in his bottom lip held together by stitches, probably from that wretched game as well.

Newell smiled widely at her.  “I realised that Miss Weasley is, unfortunately, still in the infirmary so you’ll be looking for a partner.” He gestured in Malfoy’s direction with his tattooed hand.  “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind going with Mr Malfoy?”

Hermione’s head jerked to attention. Her and _Malfoy_?

She took a dry swallow and focused on his friend, parked on a chair and keeling over like he was five times his age. “What – What about Zabini?”

“I believe he’s still worse for wear,” Newell explained with a slight quirk to his brow that only she could see.  It turned out he’d shattered his spine during the match – quite literally – he had needed a few vertebrae regrown and repositioned.  Despite being released from the Hospital Wing with a mountain of Pepper-Up Potion he was still in some pain, especially when he was jumping around trying to avoid spells.  She, grudgingly, had to accept it was a reasonable excuse.

“So… would you mind going with Mr Malfoy for this week?” Newell asked again, dipping his gaze to hers. His easy smile, she realised, had suddenly grown unsure – pinching into a grimace – because, of course, he knew it was a bit awkward to ask.  More than a bit awkward. 

 _Was_ she alright going with Malfoy? She didn’t know.  Since his return he had remained quiet and mysterious – intent on being forgotten, it seemed – and she hadn’t a clue what to expect of him now.

Her eyes shifted back to Malfoy who was taking a particular interest in the floor at that moment.  Expecting her to refuse.

“Okay. I can go with him.” She didn’t know whether she was more stunned by her own words or by the judicious glare Malfoy had levelled on her.  It was the first time he'd properly looked at her, and there wasn't a glimmer of the gratitude she might have expected from him.

Professor Newell sparked with surprise. “Good,” he nodded. “It’ll be _really_ good for both of you to try a new partner,” he added (with a little too much enthusiasm).  A few moments later they were left alone when Newell disappeared off to another corner of the room and Blaise packed his bags for the library, leaving with a meaningful - possibly warning - look at Malfoy.

“Um – Should we start?” He drawled all of a sudden, looking at her curiously.

Oh crud, she had been looking at his stitched lip.

“Okay,” she blurted, tearing her gaze away from his mouth and turning to take up a position a little way off from him, wand poised and feet planted firmly.

“Three – ” Malfoy started.

“ _Affligo!_ ” She shouted instantly, watching the hex zip through the air and hit him in the elbow.

He didn’t even flinch.  But he did look thoroughly unamused.

“Blaise and I are in the habit of counting each other in,” he stated. “As per duelling customs.”

Her eyes rolled.  “That’s not how a _real_ duel works though, is it?” She found herself asking without a thought, although she regretted it the instant it came out of her mouth, when she saw how he looked at her: taken aback, shoulders dropping with a slight furrow in his brows.  She had broken that unspoken rule they all had of not talking about the war; it made things awkward and sad even amongst friends let alone with someone like Malfoy.

The chords of his neck tightened momentarily before he murmured a faint, “Fine." He waved his hand for her to continue so she sent a few jinxes his way which he effortlessly threw off before they got down to it properly, lobbing spells back and forth.  They were well matched, it seemed – neither of them allowed the other to have the upper hand for long – but she found it rather annoying that regardless of how nasty her spells were, he was reluctant to send anything more harmful than a _Rictumsempera_ her way. 

She detested when people went easy on her - it was almost an offence, as if they thought she couldn't handle it, and people had been tip-toeing so delicately around her since the war. 

“ _Locomotor mortis!_ ” Malfoy shouted whilst simultaneously dodging a spell she had thrown to him.  Slow to move and unable to block it, Hermione felt her legs zip together from hip to ankle, throwing her off balance and sending her with a thud to her knees.

She groaned but managed to lift her wand hand just in time to cut off his _Expelliarmus_ with her own _Impedimenta_ that stopped Malfoy in his tracks so she could cast a _Stupefy_ right on the knee.

 Only… it didn’t seem to do much. He unfroze and simply staggered back a little.

“ _Stupefy!_ ” She quickly cried again, while he was still trying to sturdy himself from the first.  The ray of red landed him square in the stomach, making him keel over with a slight ‘Oof.’

That was the best duelling spell she had in her arsenal and all she got was an ‘Oof’? It was meant to wind him or stun him or throw him back against the wall!

Hermione watched with knitted eyebrows as he unfolded himself and chuckled under his breath.

“What?!” She snapped defensively, swiftly unlocking her legs and getting to her feet.

“It’s nothing Granger.” He shook his head lightly.  But he still had a smirk playing across his lips and unfortunately it was of the distracting kind, not the mean kind, so she found it hard to be quite so annoyed at him.

“No.” Hermione folded her arms across her chest and raised her chin in defiance. “You obviously have something to say.  Go ahead.”

“I was just – ” His eyes darted around the room before landing on hers. “I was just thinking that I’d much rather take your _Stupefy_ than another one of your punches.  Never thought I’d say that...”

Her mouth opened for a retort but it wasn’t what she had expected to hear.  No digging, no tormenting.

This was surely something to awaken the inner prat she knew was somewhere in there?  He kept him well hidden these days but she wouldn’t believe he was gone, and this was plenty to tease her about: a supposed war heroine and the ‘Brightest Witch of Her Age’ who can’t even cast a proper stunning spell.  Draco Malfoy couldn’t possibly be finished with her.

But he really did stop there and they stood with their eyes locked on each other for what felt like an eternity.  Both of them waiting for the other to react.  It was only when Hermione began replaying the whole ‘punching incident’ in her mind, right down to the goofy face Malfoy made just before her fist hit his nose, did she break.  She bit back a smile at the memory which seemed to relax Malfoy, had him give a tentative smile back.

It was an odd moment to have with him, she noted, and when she caught herself she made sure to look away hurriedly.

“I don’t know what happened… with the _Stupefy_ ,” she confessed uneasily, smoothing her hands over her crumpled skirt.

“Have you ever thought that maybe stunning spells just aren’t your thing, Granger?”

He hadn’t said it unkindly but Hermione scowled nonetheless. “No,” she replied flatly, “They’ve always worked before.”

Except when it didn’t.  In the Room of Requirements against – well – _him_ , actually, during the Battle of Hogwarts.  She remembered so clearly because it panicked her to think she was falling apart in the middle of an ongoing battle; her spells failing her.  She, of course, didn't mention any of this to him.

“Alright,” he threw back, just as she began to turn away. Hermione paused in her step and narrowed her eyes at the tone – dry, sardonic and disbelieving.

 _There_ he was.  The smug git.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't mean any offence," he said slowly, evenly. "It just may be that it doesn't come naturally to you, directing all your power at someone for the purposes incapacitating them."

She rolled her eyes.  "So you think you'll be better?"

"I - "

“Why don’t you show me then, Malfoy?"

He breathed a laugh and cocked his head as if she were some ridiculous animal. “I’m not just going to hit you with a _Stupefy_ , Granger.”

“Why not? I'm asking you to.” She challenged wryly.  “What are you so afraid of, Malfoy? That you won't be much better?”

He lifted an amused eyebrow at her.

“Or, that you’ll hurt me? That thought never troubled you before.”

His face suddenly fell. “Wh – ?” His jaw hardened, “I’ve… I’ve never held my wand against you,” he said seriously.  Malfoy was looking at her intently with those arresting eyes of his, half in challenge and half in total defeat.

Merlin. He was right.  He had cut her up with his words plenty of times and left her crying; she had been caught in some of the crossfire between him and Harry, falling victim to his _Densaugeo_ that left her with embarrassingly large teeth.  There were certainly many other instances when he had tried to hurt _Harry_ ; and he had stood by while his maniac of an aunt _Crucio_ -ed her on the floor of his house.  But he had never actually pointed his wand at _her_ intending to inflict physical harm.

She wasn’t sure that one mercy countered all the rest of it, though. 

“You’re right, you haven’t,” she said quietly, with no tone of apology in her voice.  It wasn’t needed.  “Just use some proper spells on me, will you? I’m tougher than I look.”

When she turned purposefully to take up her duelling stance again, she could have sworn she heard him murmur, ‘I know’ under his breath.  
  
He did step it up a notch when they got back into it.  He shot faster, cast spells to divert her attention – something that Ginny never did – and mixed in the rare _Stupefy_.  She kept most of it at bay with shields, darting out of the way from rays of green and red until he finally had her jumping back into the wall to avoid a _Levicorpus._

“ _Everte statum!_ ” He followed-up.  His spell hissed through the air towards her shin and Hermione braced herself for the prickling pain and blast that she knew would come.

It didn’t, though.

She glanced down and her feet were still firmly on the ground, her knee quaking with a shiver of numbness, nothing more.  She had seen the spell fly through the air and crackle with its power, yet nothing had come of it. Hermione peered up and saw Malfoy looking just as bemused.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he said plainly, edging forward.

“Did you use your full force?”

“Of course, I did – ”

“Because if you didn’t – ”

"But _I did._ " He scoffed. “Why would you think – ?”

“Because you’ve been going easy on me the entire session!” She gestured wildly.

“I wasn't going easy on you, Granger. The spell just didn’t work!”

“ _IS_ everything okay here?” They both jolted in surprise when Professor Newell suddenly shouted over them. He was standing to their side with his wand ready for something, concern etched across his face.

Where had he even popped up from?

And when did she get _this_ close to Malfoy?

He was really quite  _tall._ Probably the same height as Ron was (when he didn’t slouch), and towering over her so obnoxiously with that steely look in eye. Merlin, he was standing really close; she could see the slight dew of sweat on his face from their exertions, feel his body heat against her.  She could smell him – woody and spicy all at once.  Not entirely unpleasant, she noted. 

Not unpleasant at all.

“We’re having problems with our spells, professor,” Malfoy’s answered coolly, taking a step back from her.  Obviously he had lost track of how close they had both got as well.

“ _Some_ spells.  Not all of them,” she corrected.  She wouldn’t have her professor thinking she was completely incompetent.

“Okay.” Newell's narrowed eyes shifted between them, as if he thought he was missing something. “Which ones?”

Hermione began listing. “ _Everte statum_ , the stunning spell – ”

“ _Affligo_.” Malfoy added, and when she gaped at him he explained: “It should sting not tickle, Granger.”

She looked away, cheeks reddening slightly.  That was such a simple spell… One of the earliest hexes she had learnt.

“Right…” The professor murmured thoughtfully.  He grasped the tip of Malfoy’s wand and stared down his nose at it. “What are your wands made of?”

“Hawthorn.”

“Vine,” she offered.

“And the core?”

“Phoenix feather,” Malfoy replied.  She realised it must be a new wand and that his old one must never have returned its allegiance to him.  She didn’t know what that meant, if anything.

Her professor gave her an expectant gaze. “Oh, um, Dragon Heartstring.”

“So, they’re not even vaguely related then…They won't interact with each other.” Newell twirled his own wand between his fingers and sighed. “You said the stunning spell didn’t work?”

They both shook their heads.

“And what about disarming or body-locking spells?”

Malfoy simply shrugged in response; they’d seen nothing unusual there.

Newell shifted his weight. “Miss Granger, could you disarm Mr Malfoy?”

She stepped back a little and did as he said, flicking Malfoy's wand towards the window and then, as the professor instructed, she cast a successful _Impedimenta_ on him as she had done earlier. 

“Okay.  Now try a _Flipendo_.”

Malfoy, stood before her with a sort-of smooth arrogance about him, set to take the _Flipendo_ to his legs _._ He was probably suspecting it wouldn’t work. Oh, how she would have loved to prove him wrong.

"Flipendo!" She called, with a little more energy.

His knees buckled slightly under the force but it was - infuriatingly - nowhere near the reaction she had wanted. It was a _knockback jinx_ , which means it should have – well – knocked him back.  As in arse over head.

She huffed to herself.  Perhaps, it _was_ almost expected by now but it didn’t make it any less frustrating to see her magic falter so badly.  And Malfoy was going around as if it was nothing unusual! So irritatingly _poised_.  Hermione had to admit she felt marginally better later on, when she caught him clenching his jaw after repeating the same set of spells on her with similar, baffling results.

“Mr Malfoy.  If you would hit me with a _Flipendo_ , please.” Newel instructed, walking backwards and holding his arms out lazily to his side as an invitation. He didn't seem to think there was anything amiss about asking a former Death Eater to hit him with such an unpleasant spell.

Malfoy flashed a look at her, the blond eyebrows furrowing. “You want me to…”

“Cast a _Flipendo_.  On me.” He smiled back in assurance.  “It’s alright.”

Malfoy nodded back and with a moment’s hesitation (as you might expect when attacking your teacher), he cast the _Flipendo_ and sent Newell flying back a foot or two, landing in a crumpled mass on the floor, and attracting quite a few gasps and dirty looks directed at Malfoy.

"So, that worked..." Their professor groaned from the floor. "It’s alright! It's alright,” Newell grinned to the class as he hopped back to his feet, “I asked him to do it.”

They didn’t seem convinced and Malfoy, she noticed, had suddenly tensed under the unwanted attention, not that Professor Newell particularly noticed.  He ambled up, robes hanging here and there, rubbing his arse with a perplexed look.

“Funny,” he mused, reflecting pretty much her own thoughts.  Hermione was beginning to have her suspicions of what was going on but it made no sense.

Professor Newell swept his eyes over them each in turn. “I think I know better than to ask whether you two are both family…”

She pursed her lips. “We’re not.” Malfoy had made _that_ abundantly clear over the years – that their lineages could not be more different.  He was the pedigree hound and she was only a mutt. “But why should that matter?” She asked harshly, barely noticing that Malfoy was fidgeting in his place.  Gently tucking his left arm behind him.

“It’s just that…you two seem to be exhibiting the signs of a bond.”

“I realised…” She mumbled, but really only she could hear it.

“A classic _familial_ bond,” Newell added.

She swallowed, darting her eyes to Malfoy. " _Familial?_  I don't... understand,” she replied with a shake of the head.

The professor exhaled as he thought how to answer. “Well, I'm sure you both know that our magical cores – where the powers of witches and wizards are rooted – are strongly linked to the soul.  We see it all the time that our feelings and, more specifically, _love_ can do the strangest things to magic, like a couple’s patronuses taking the same corporeal form – ”

“Or like Harry – Potter, that is - ” Hermione interjected, “His mother’s love was enough to render the killing curse ineffective against him…” She saw Malfoy’s eyes flicker at her in her periphery.  Maybe he hadn’t heard the full story of how he lived, she imagined that was the sort of thing Voldermort didn't like to tell his people.

“Exactly!” Newell nodded. “And this is quite similar.  Magic can be very powerful – a weapon if you need it to be – but it shouldn’t be used to hurt the ones you love. It’s not a very well studied area,” he mumbled, “but it’s been noted that immediate family members – for example, parents and children, siblings – often can’t hurt each other too much using their magic. There are natural bonds between them render offensive spells less effective.”

Malfoy nodded slowly. “I’ve heard of that,” he rasped, “It can be very powerful – even protect against spells as strong as the Cruciatus curse.”

Hermione gave him a sidelong glance, wondering how exactly he’d come about that piece of information.  Somehow she felt it was far more sinister than him having simply read it in a book.

“It _is_ quite amazing,” Newell agreed.  “As I say, only _offensive_ spells intending to cause pain are made less effective.  So minor hexes that, for example, enlargen your head or make your teeth fall out, or any spells designed to protect yourself, like disarming spells, body binds and freezes, would still work. You would still be able to have a decent fight.”

Well, that explained why the Weasley’s could torment each other as they do without causing any lasting damage - Ginny and her brothers had occasionally used some very potent spells during their little squabbles.

“These bonds are apparently also seen in some romantic partners.  They can exist naturally – I think – where the magical cores recognise each other as soulmates or whatever…” Newell made a point to waggle his fingers in quotations marks at the word ‘soulmates.’ “...Presumably because these romantic partners would hopefully marry and become each other's family. In fact, the classic marriage binding ceremony will have spells to strengthen or, indeed, artificially create this sort of bond where it doesn’t already exist. It was and still is especially important in the case of arranged marriages – afterall, families wouldn’t want their children sent off with someone they barely know without securing their safety, somewhat…” Newell paused in the midst of his academic ramblings and laughed at himself. “But none of all that really applies to you two... Does it?”

Malfoy gave a small, dignified shake of the head but Hermione couldn't hold back an inelegant snort at such a suggestion. “ _No_ ,” she said shortly.

“Right,” the professor nodded and pointed between them.  “And… you two haven’t entered into a magical bind of some sort? Cast a spell by accident or something?”

They both grimaced at him.

 “You don’t have to worry," Newell assured them, "I could break it.  Or find one of my friends to do it for you.  Some curse-breakers are retraining, you know, what with the number of witches and wizards wanting to divorce these days there need to be people to safely sever those bonds from the marriage ceremony.”

Hermione tried to process how the magical world saw a marriage bind as akin to a curse.

“If I may speak for Granger as well,” Malfoy said, filling the silence, “Neither of us are exactly the kind to cast spells without knowing the consequences.”

He was being quite polite, she thought.  It wasn’t a ringing endorsement of her magical ability but somewhere in there was a compliment, of sorts. 

“He's right, professor,” she finally said, “I'm quite sure we’ve never bound ourselves together.”

“Oh.  Well then I’m out of suggestions, I’m afraid.” He shrugged lightly. “The important thing is that it’s no harm to either of you. Maybe you two can look around in the library?”

Her mouth dropped open at the words.  She would have gone to the library regardless, but she had hoped Professor Newell could offer something better.  Instead he sauntered off casually and left them perplexed as to what to do next.

Later on that week, when she did find a spare moment, she had asked Madam Pince in the library for some help locating information about magical bonds.  She had looked through a few books, compared her symptoms – _their_ symptoms – and found that Professor Newell was right.  It was all indicative of a familial-type bond, bizarrely.  Bonds, in general, were a poorly understood area of magic but this specific type of familial bond was notoriously understudied.  The last lot of research was done over two centuries ago with a sample size of eighteen – an utterly useless investigation – and even though the entries she found confirmed what her professor had told them _in theory_ , she was inclined to think it was utter nonsense.  There was no substantial and well documented evidence to support this claim, and anyway, why would she and _Draco_   _Malfoy_ share such a bond?  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, lots of dialogue but I did try and cut out the unnecessary stuff and only kept what was needed to demonstrate the sign.  
> So, ideally, I'd love for you all to go back over chapters 4 to 6 and see where I dropped signs of this magic phenomena presenting itself in the story, but I know you may not have the time so I've listed below:
> 
>  **Chapter 4**  
>  \- Hermione/Draco/Blaise (Room of Requirements) - Hermione tries to Stupefy Draco and Blaise, it works on Blaise but not Draco. Referenced in this chapter.
> 
>  **Chapter 6**  
>  \- Hermione/Ron (Hogsmead) - they squabble and Hermione loses control of her magic. She zaps Ron accidentally and it hurts. She mentions it happens often and he always moans a lot.  
> \- Hermione/her parents - she mentions she used to zap them when she was angry as a child. They used to say it never hurt and she compares this to Ron, thinking he's over-reacting.  
> \- Ginny/Hermione (DADA duelling) - Ginny hurts Hermione with an Everte statum.  
> \- Ginny/Ron - she explains she's used Everte statum against him and it was useless  
> \- Ginny/Harry - as above, but their love is romantic
> 
> I hope it was clear what was happening with their magic? If not then let me know so I can clear it up - it probably means I've explained it badly and lots of people are confused! Hope you enjoyed :)
> 
>  
> 
> **UPDATE 24/04/2017: Hi all, just to say that the piece isn't abandoned but I am on a little hiatus because of exams (ugh) so I apologise. Hope you'll all stick with me :)**
> 
> **UPDATE 20/07/2017: Apologies, apologies! The next chapter is in the works. Exams are over but I have been suffering from writers block for ages. I'm powering through!**

**Author's Note:**

> As I said, I love comments whether they are good or bad, so let me know what you all think!


End file.
